The Water Witch of Vesuvia
by mephistophcrowles
Summary: As the apprentice to Asra, Rose finds her life taking unexpected turns - mostly down dark alleyways with the overly-dramatic Doctor Devorak - as she seeks to uncover the mysteries of Lucio's murder and her own past. This story follows Julian's path and adds some extra story, flavor, and romance.
1. Chapter 1

I sit, tapping my fingers restlessly on the table as Asra finishes packing his belongings. The drapes in the windows are closed against any customers for the rest of the night, and candles glow warm amber all over the shop. I don't need to see outside to know that the moonless night is black and lonely outside. A good day to start a journey, Asra had said.

He turns to me suddenly.

"Here, take this. For you to play around with while I'm gone."

I hold my hand out. A gift? This can't be good.

"My tarot deck."

"You think I want your creepy deck?" I ask, half joking, even as I take the deck from his hands. The cards make my hair stand on end the moment I touch them. They have too much of his magic to make me feel comfortable.

"Scared of them still?" he teases. "You're really something. I'll hide the cards, if you wish. But first...humor me. Read my fortune. Just for fun." He catches the skeptical turn of my mouth. "This isn't a test, I promise."

So, it's a test, then.

Despite my reservations, he pulls back the curtain which leads to the backroom.

"After you," he says. I brush past him and take a seat at the table. Asra lets the curtain fall behind him and sits across from me.

"It's been a while since we've practiced."

"Because I've already perfected it?"

He looks surprised at my boldness, but recovers quickly. "Have you now? You really are gifted. I shouldn't have expected any less." He shakes his head, as though shaking off an errant thought. "Then let's not wait any longer."

At that moment, something smooth and cool brushes along my ankle. Faust winds her way up to Asra's shoulder. She's pleased to see me, I think.

"If we're all here," Asra says, scratching Faust's chin, "let's begin." If snakes could purr…

I shuffle the deck. His gaze follows the cards as they slip through my fingers. He picks three, and I flip one over.

The High Priestess.

"And what is she telling you?"

The cards speak to me, but not in any human tongue. When my mind is clear, the answer comes to me.

"You've forsaken her. You've pushed her away, and buried her voice. She calls out to you, but you won't listen. Asra, if you don't listen to her…"

My warning is silenced by a sharp knocking on the front door. A customer, this late?

"Did you forget to put out the lantern again?" I'm sure I haven't, but he doesn't wait for my answer. He stands and swings his bag over his shoulder. "Just as well. I can't stay any longer."

I follow him as he walks out from the backroom, Faust still curled around his shoulder. "Take care of yourself. Ah, I almost forgot. You wanted the cards hidden, didn't you? Because they're so creepy?" A brief light sears - Asra's magic. "There, it's done. Good luck finding them." There's something else he wants to say, but he holds back. Instead he says, "Until we meet again."

With a flourish he dons his hat and slips out the back door.

The knocking sounds again.

The Countess.

I accept her invitation to meet her tomorrow, and I wonder about my reputation and whether she's mistaken me for Asra. Powerful, gifted… I have talent and skill, but am I really what she and Asra believe me to be?

When I open the door for the Countess to leave, a cold wind sweeps through the opening and the flames of the candles sitting on the counter sputter out. Only a few candles lit on the shelf are left, casting a dim glow. I close the door behind the Countess as she slips into the night, lost in my own thoughts. Perhaps I should do a reading for myself. Yes, that's what I'll do.

I've just flipped the first of three locks when I hear a voice from behind me.

"Strange hours for a shop to keep."

I freeze, blood running cold with fear. Who said that? I turn slowly and take a few tentative steps away from the door, further into the shop, searching each corner of the dark corners, the shadows morphing as the flames above my head dance. My crow familiar, Mephisto, could help me see more clearly, but he's deep in the forest - I sent him there to check on everything this morning. I have to rely on my own senses, but it's impossible to focus around my fear.

I don't see anything, but I hear a whisper of fabric.

"Behind you," the voice teases. I spin and see a tall form looming against the door, where I had stood moments ago. Hot adrenaline floods my frozen veins and sets my heart pounding.

"Sources say this is the witch's lair," the voice says, low and threatening. He unfolds his arms and takes a step towards me. "So who might you be?"

Instinct takes over. As he approaches me, I swing for his head. He dodges easily.

"Hah! You've got guts. En garde, then! Let's see what else you've got."

I call on my water magic to summon ice in my hand and launch it at his body. As though expecting it, he side-steps and the attack explodes in frost against the wall.

Looking at the ice crystals melt away, the man almost sounds impressed as he says, "Has Asra been teaching you his tricks? Unfortunately for you, I've seen them all bef-"

At that moment, the empty bottle I'd grabbed and lobbed makes contact with his head. His mask falls to the floor with a clatter. He stumbles back from the impact and then braces himself on the counter, leaning for a moment into a pool of weak candle light.

My heart skips a beat as I take in the bloody cut on his forehead - thanks to the bottle I threw at him - the eye patch, his jawline, his wild auburn hair, and his eyes, an intense grey like a storm at sea. His mouth lifts into a wry grin.

"You do have guts." Now he really does sound impressed.

"Doctor Julian Devorak?" I ask in disbelief.

I recognize the mask now, remember seeing his tall form stooping over patients in the street, lingering over those who had moments left before turning and going to the next one. Then, after a time, I never saw him at all. The victims of the Red Plague never survived, and there was always someone else dying. I was playing nurse during that time. I didn't have any - still don't have any - real medical skill, but I could ease some pain and create illusions that helped people pass into death more quietly, more peacefully. And I could flush the plague out of my system when it got into me but never figured out how to do it to anyone else without killing either of us.

"No one's called me that in years," he answers by way of acknowledgement. He's almost jovial, basking in the pride of recognition. Then his gaze hardens. "Quickly now. Where is the witch?"

"I'll never talk!" I raise my hands again, ready to fight. Not like I know where Asra is, anyway. I hope desperately that there are more empty bottles around.

"I thought you might say that." Devorak wipes the blood from his brow, mood darkening even further. Instead of coming after me, he seems...resigned. "No sense in wasting the visit. You're a fortune teller, aren't you?"

I pause, confused by his shift in tactic, and drop my hands. "Um, yes."

"Tell my fortune, and I'll leave you in peace."

I stare him down in disbelief. He broke into the shop, dead set on trying to find Asra and gave up so quickly? Then again, now that my pulse has stopped racing and I can get a read on his aura, I don't actually get the feeling that he's dangerous at all, even if he tried to act like he was. I mean, he didn't even _try_ to attack me - I'm the one who threw the bottle at _him_.

With no reason to not, and to satiate my own curiosity about this strange man, I lead Doctor Devorak to the backroom and reach out to open the curtain. He strides ahead as we approach and he holds the curtain back for me. As I pass him, he gives me a mischievous grin and a wink that set my ears on fire. He doesn't follow me immediately, and I feel his eyes track slowly down my body, lingering on my ass.

I fight to control the heat in my cheeks and take a seat, focusing on shuffling the tarot cards. He slips into the seat across from me, where the Countess sat minutes before. He rests his lanky arms casually on the chair back.

"I used to love places like this, you know." His cool eye tracks my hands as they shuffle the cards.

I suppress a small smile. Small talk? Really? Devorak has an uncanny ability to unease me, but I'm not entirely uncomfortable. Just… on my toes. As a magician and fortune teller, it's hard sometimes to be surprised by anything, but here he is, keeping me guessing in every moment.

"Used to?" I ask. I can feel the cards rearranging themselves in my hands as I shuffle.

"I don't like magic."

"You probably don't know much about it, then."

I give up on shuffling - the deck has decided already what it has to say to him. I meet his eyes and realize he's staring at me.

"Go on. No need to be shy."

I deal out the stacks and gesture for him to choose. He picks three cards and I don't hesitate before choosing one to flip over. My hand is drawn to it by the card itself, it seems.

"...Death." My blood pounds in my ears, drowning out the words the card tries to whisper to me. No need, in any case.

"Death?" Devorak looks stunned for a moment, then incredulous. "Death?" He barks out a laugh once, cold as ice, completely humorless. "You've got to be joking." I jump as he strikes the tables with his palms, rising to his feet. "Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like me."

His long strides carry him quickly out of the backroom and I'm close on his heels. Of course I know what he was accused of, that he's a wanted man, but I have no idea what he's talking about.

With a sudden flourish he whirls around and I slam into his chest. He catches my wrist and rights me before I stumble backwards, pulling me towards him. At that moment I become keenly aware of just how tall he is.

"You've been hospitable, so I'll let you in on a little secret." He tugs me closer and leans over to whisper into my ear. "Asra will be back for you. He's taught you his tricks - you may even say that he cares for you. But when he returns...seek me out. For your own sake." He pulls back and grins devilishly again, apparently delighted by how flustered I must look.

He releases me and I take a shaky step back. Devorak leans down to pick up his mask from where it fell when I hit him with the bottle. He stares into the glassy red eyes. "That creature is far more dangerous than you know," he says, then slips the mask on again, pushing it up on his forehead. "Well then. The hour is late, and I'm out of time."

He fixes me with a long look, and so many questions spring to my mind but I don't know which one to ask first. The moment passes and he pulls the mask down over his face. "Don't let him fool, you, shopkeep," he warns. Then with two long strides he reaches the door and disappears into the darkness.

I lock all three locks on the door this time with shaking hands.

Anyone else, I note, would be afraid of Julian Devorak and would alert the guards immediately.

But I'm not afraid, and I don't call the guards. He may be a hunted man in this city, and he may put on a show of acting like a lawless killer, but even during our brief interaction I could tell it was an act. As I settle into bed and pulled my blanket over me, I think about the life I've lived up until now, safe and comfortable and protected. The Countess has asked me to investigate, and I'm ready to do more than just uncover the truth behind Lucio's death - I'm ready to dive headfirst into adventure. Meeting Julian Devorak ignited a long dormant desire to explore and experience everything that life has to offer, to follow each thread of curiosity and uncover secrets. Fate has pushed me towards the doomed doctor.

A good day to begin a journey, indeed.

When I finally fall asleep, I dream of Asra, a strange desert road, and Julian's breath in my ear.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake with a start in the golden light of dawn and hurriedly pack my things, taking special care to tuck Asra's tarot cards into a hidden pocket in my bag. I splash water on my face and change into something more presentable than the rumpled clothes I slept in.

As I run downstairs I pass by a mirror and catch sight of myself. It looks like my hair exploded on one side, but I don't have time to fuss over it. I braid the top layer of hair down, leaving the rest in curls and waves over my shoulders. I appraise myself with tired eyes and think, _Good enough_.

Hoping that I haven't made myself late to meet the Countess today, I throw on my cloak and run out the door. I'm halfway down the street when I sprint back to the door and engage all three locks _and_ the protection spell, cautious after last night's strange visits.

The morning mist is thick in the streets, blanketing the world in an otherworldly, milky glow.

I close my eyes for a moment and cast out my magic to find Mephisto. He should have been back this morning, but hadn't returned. Our link establishes and I see he's over at the palace already, splashing around in one of the fountains.

_Are you coming back anytime soon?_ I ask.

_Later_, he squawks back. _Bathing!_

I laugh, amused at how bird-like he could be (considering he's an ethereal manifestation of magic) and shake my head, letting the connection drop.

Suddenly, the back of my neck prickles with the sensation of being watched and I can't help but groan to myself. Not again.

Turning slightly in the direction the sensation is coming form, I spot in my periphery a hulking figure. It stands in the foggy alleyway I need to take to get to the marketplace.

Squaring my shoulders, I walk past with as much confidence as I can muster, feeling the prickling increase as I near. As I get closer, I realize that the figure is indeed human. Closer again, and I can see their flesh is a map of scars, clean and jagged, shallow and deep. Shrouded in a pall of weatherbeaten furs, it's hard to make out a face but I catch the glint of eyes and they are _definitely_ watching me. I shift my shoulders but the sensation lingers uncomfortably. Just as I'm passing them and the discomfort is at its height, they lay a heavy hand on my shoulder. The movement is accompanied by the rattle of weighty chains from underneath their robes and the shudder I'd been holding in becomes uncontrollable. I freeze and tremble.

"He will return, uninvited." His voice is like thunder, low and ominous. "He will offer you an escape, when you need it most… Turn it away, or you will fall into his hand… Just like the rest of us."

I struggle to wrap my mind around his words. He… Asra? Devorak? The milkman? The vague prophecies and omens of the cards are more clear than this.

The stranger's eyes bore into mine, searching intently for something. I suppose he doesn't find it, because he sighs and turns away, disappointed. His hand, large as one of Asra's special teapots, lifts from my shoulder. He shuffles away, chains rattling underneath the rustle of his cloak. Then the fog swallows him up, and there's silence.

My brain feeling just as foggy as the street, I start walking towards the palace.

By the time I reach the marketplace, the fog is dispersed and sunlight warms my face. The wood groans under my feet, and the water beneath the boards sends the sunlight glinting and shimmering on the canopies above.

I feel calmed by the water's presence after that encounter with the hulking stranger and his… perplexing message.

Three odd encounters, I muse. The power of thirds. Something big is going to happen.

Over the cacophony of bartering and laughter that surrounds me, Dorsa the baker calls out to me as I pass. She offers a sweet pastry and conversation. My stomach growls and my resolve wavers. It's been over a month since we've talked, and she always has the best gossip about the city.

But I summon what inner strength I have left (after my body betrayed me with that ridiculous trembling earlier, I need to redeem myself...to myself). I wave as I pass her stall, calling out, "Next time!"

"Alright," she yells back. "But you'll never believed who eloped yesterday!"

It's a long way to the palace, and I've already lost some time. Damn.

The crowd ahead of me is thick with workers on their way to their shops and tasks: I weave in and out of the bodies, trying to find a clear path.

A sharp cry above me draws my attention and I pause, stepping out of the crowd. Pressing my body against a stone wall gently warmed from the sun, I shield my eyes to look up. A raven, perched on the awning overhead, meets my gaze and cocks its head. There's something about this bird… Then its eye shifts to something behind me, and I turn to follow its gaze. My heart skips and then thumps painfully.

Devorak.

He's walking casually through the crowd, his height and black cloak making him stand out. Though, somehow, nobody seems to have noticed him yet except for me. He isn't wearing his mask, and his the skin under his eye is a deep purple, indicating a sleepless night. Or a couple of sleepless nights. He hasn't spotted me yet and before I know it, my feet are in motion and I'm fighting against the flow of people towards him.

My questions from last night that I didn't get to ask him bubble up: Why did he come back to Vesuvia? Why was he looking for Asra? Or was he looking for something in our shop? And questions that pop up now at the sight of him threaten to completely boil me over: What's he doing unmasked in broad daylight? Does he want to get caught?

He looks so...calm. Almost at ease, though I can tell from the set of his shoulders that he's holding tension there. His gaze roams over the stalls with mild interest.

Instinct pulls me in his direction, telling me to hide him before he's recognized. It hasn't been long enough for anyone to have forgotten his face, not yet, and I increase my pace.

There's a gap in my memory that I can't fill. I remember Doctor Devorak, a man who threw his body and mind at the plague, hoping he could cure it with either one. I remember Asra, and living in the city. The memories are bare-bones, like pencil sketches of an oil painting. Powerful, crippling migraines thwart every attempt I make to think about the time between when I was spending half my time as Asra's apprentice and the other on the streets with plague victims, and waking up one morning to Asra's concerned face hovering over me.

He asked me to stay in bed for a while and rest. My body was exhausted, so I did. And when I recovered, still feeling weak but desperate to move around, Asra kept me busy enough that I didn't have time to do anything else but learn, and keep the shop.

There were moments in the early months after this event, this Waking Up, when I would stay out late at the bar, sharing stories and laughter with strangers, or exploring the city, looking for hidden corners and secret passageways.

It felt natural and familiar, like I was connecting to the life I had lost after Waking Up. And then I would come home to a concerned Asra, and he would caution me: about how dangerous the city could be; how afraid he was of anything happening to me; how much he needed me here at the shop. Too tired to argue and guilty for worrying him, I stopped going out at night and within that first year settled into a comfortable routine of collecting herbs, mixing potions, reading fortunes, and coming up with ways to drive more business to our shop.

I wasn't an apprentice anymore, not really, but I wasn't a full-fledged magician yet, either. At least, not in the same way Asra is a magician.

The one secret I kept from him, and still keep, was that I still practiced my water magic. He hadn't said outright that I shouldn't, but I had a feeling that he wouldn't be happy if I did. Especially if he knew I was occasionally still experimenting with the water-based blood magic that kept me from succumbing to the plague.

So I practice when I'm out gathering herbs or when he's gone on his trips. I take notes on what I learn in notebooks that I hide under the floor or in the forest, developing what feels like a forbidden art.

It's exciting.

I'm thinking about all of this, and then wonder how disappointed Asra would be if he could see me chasing after a wanted man that I had barely spoken to years ago, when suddenly the raven cries again from overhead.

It had followed me, hopping on the boards above the marketplace, keeping pace with my progress. I look back at Devorak at the same moment his gaze drops from the raven to me. We both freeze, and a look of shock and confusion passes over his face. I lift my arm to reach out to him -

And a cart rolls over my foot. I curse and jump back to save my other one, and the cart blocks my view.

When it passes, he's gone, and so is the raven.

I ask myself, why am I turning away from the palace to go after him? And then, why am I pursuing danger like this? And in response, moments from my dream, intangible and brief, flit through my mind and I exhale slowly.

Curiosity. Attraction. Adventure.

Mixed together, they create a dangerous cocktail that I can't resist. Another call from the life I once lived that I didn't realize I missed so much.

In another word: Foolishness.

I almost threw away the life I've built over the past three years! I can picture Asra's face as it was back then when I Woke Up, concerned and anxious and berate myself for doing something so thoughtless as trying to catch a condemned murderer.

But… there are doubts about his conviction…

I turn back and the flow of bodies carries me forward until I break out towards a stairwell. I catch sight of a fortune teller's booth. Seeing those colorful cloth walls, the sparkling silver moons, and smelling the incense breaks me out of my brooding, and I smile at the nostalgic memory of when Asra worked out of one.

A patron is emerging as I pass, so I swing wide and keep my head down.

The woman, her copper tresses bound up with a colorful scarf asks as she pushes the tent aside into the street, "What are my lucky numbers today?...Three, six, seven, nine. Got it." She repeats the numbers as she backs up and crashes into me. The impact makes me stumble, and twelve pomegranates spill from the basket on her hip. I help pick up the pomegranates, diving for the last one to save it from getting crushed under the wheels of a cart.

My head shoots up and I glare at the driver - the same cart that ran over my foot.

The woman's eyes sparkle as she takes the rescued pomegranate from my hands.

"Thank you! How sweet of you to help. And after I bumped into you in the first place!" She helps me up with a strong, calloused hand. "I probably shouldn't do this, but…" She takes one of the pomegranates and hands it to me. I accept it, and she rewards me with a warm smile. It chases away my ire toward the cart driver. "Take care, all right?" With a wink, she departs, slipping into the crowd.

The fortune teller tells me the woman is Portia, the Countess' favorite servant, and then offers me a telling. I note the progress of the sun and turn her down, hurrying further up the stairs.

The crowd thins the farther I go, and the sounds of the market fade away behind me. My legs burn with the effort. While I started out by taking the stairs two at a time, I'm now trudging up each one, trying not to look up at how many are left. Night is falling now, bringing a cool breeze with it. I reach the top and look up to see the palace looming in front of me.

Gold-topped turrets shimmer in the light of the setting sun. The palace is perfectly geometric, the towers stretching to the stars. The sight of its opulent splendor makes my breath catch, every single time.

I step up to the tall iron gate, intricately wrought and protected by guards who may as well have been statues, as still as they were standing. I clear my throat.

"The Countess is expecting me," I announce. Is that what you're supposed to say? I hadn't put any thought into it before now and I feel myself slipping into timidity.

The guards glance at each other.

"We've had no word to expect a guest," the one on my right says.

"So you'll need the code to enter," continues the one on my left.

Do they rehearse this?

I think quickly. Asra taught me long ago… something about the answer being given to you, if you're listening for it…?

In a flash I remember Portia.

"Three, six, seven, nine," I state, hands on my hips. The guards glance at each other again, then open the gate and let me pass through. I grin to myself. Never mess with a magician.

Portia meets me just inside the gate.

"Oh, you made it!" she says gleefully. "I hadn't realized that _you_ were the guest the Countess invited tonight!"

Portia guides me across a huge alabaster stone bridge. It crosses over a moat of swirling waters and I pause a moment to lean over them.

There's a kind of water magic I've been practicing where I can learn the history of a place by drinking its water. Most people don't know, but water absorbs energy from the life around it and carries it. The sea would be a challenge - it's so massive that the energy travels with the currents around the world and might be difficult to tap into. But this moat water, contained in an oval around the palace since who knows how long, would be concentrated with enough energy to make it possible.

As I'm staring, wondering how to take a sample without looking suspicious, a shape corkscrews through the current. It glows like a bloodless ghost, its ribbon-like body long and rippling.

"Something catch your eye?" Portia asks, leaning over the stone railing next to me. She catches sight of the ghost. "Ah, do you like animals?" I tell her that I do. "You'll definitely enjoy your stay here, then! The palace is home to all kinds of exotic pets. But you don't want to get too friendly with that one." She points at the creature making figure eights in the murky water. "It's a vampire eel, imported from faraway swamps. No eyes or ears, but they're still pretty graceful, don't you think?"

I murmur my agreement, mesmerized by the smooth patterns the eel makes as it swims.

"Unless you splash around a lot, they won't even bother you." She stands straight and starts to walk, and I drag my eyes away and follow her. "You wouldn't want to catch a bite from one of them. If they get their teeth into you, they won't let go until all your blood is drained from your body." She grimaces. "Anyway," she continues, "what's your favorite animal?"

I think for a moment. "I'm partial to birds."

"Really? Well, maybe you can help me out with one in particular that I'm having some trouble with."

Portia peppers me with questions as we walk - "What's it like to be a magician?" "Can you see the future?" "Can you see _my_ future?" - and I realize how long it's been since Waking Up that I've had this kind of interaction with someone. Asra I see (almost) daily, and we're long past the point of "getting to know you" conversations. Everyone else, it's usually just business. I could call Dorsa a friend, but we don't see each other very often… I feel suddenly guilty that I didn't stop to talk to her today.

Portia drags me out of my thoughts when she scoffs asks, "But how do you know mermaids exist if you've never _seen_ one?" and she's managed to make me promise to go shopping with her and do her tarot reading when I realize that we're at the palace doors.

Uncertainty rises up in me like a gaseous bubble and I face the legitimate fear of vomiting. Is this wise? What awaits me in this fortress, so far from home? If I walk through these doors, will I ever walk out again?

Portia turns to me with a winsome smile, which does a lot to soothe my nerves.

"We've arrived."

She lifts her hands and knocks slowly, three times. The sound is skull-rattling. As the last echoes fade, the pendulous doors swing open, and we step inside.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm aware that I'm staring open-mouthed, but I can't help it as I take in the cavernous hallways made of smooth stone, the ceilings arched high and intricately carved. There isn't a speck of dust or grime anywhere to be seen and I rub the hem of my cloak self-consciously, tucking it closer around my body like that would prevent any of the dirt I'd tracked in from going anywhere.

Vague recognition washes over me as I look around, but the feeling is chased away by a dull, pulsing ache in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid of the migraine that I know is coming. Asra taught me a trick once to help the headaches go away: _imagine a river carrying the pain away_. I exhale slowly and conjure the river in my mind.

I blink my eyes open and stare open-mouthed at the cavernous hallways made of smooth stone, the ceilings arched high and intricately carved. I have the feeling I was thinking about something important, but I'm distracted by the sight of servants lining the hallway, standing at attention on either side and dressed in brilliantly colored uniforms. The smooth fabric catches and somehow holds the light from the lanterns overhead. As the servants bow, the light ripples across the fabric.

They greet us as we pass. "Welcome." "Welcome." "Welcome." My eyes flick left and right uneasily, and I glance at Portia. She smiles back at the other servants and returns their greetings. I force my lips into a smile and it feels so awkward that I drop it immediately. When we reach the end of the line, a short man with a huge feather in his cap slides into step beside Portia.

"How are we doing on time?" Portia asks.

"Impeccably!" he responds. I wonder who this is. Does the feather mean something? "The first course will be served shortly. Her ladyship has yet to descend."

"Perfect." Portia heaves a sigh of relief, then heaves the basket of pomegranates at her hip towards who I now assume is the Chamberlain, who takes it. "Run and tell the kitchen that our guest has arrived."

"Yes, yes, right away!" With a bow that makes his feather bob, the Chamberlain turns abruptly and steps into the wall and disappears. A secret passageway! I grin to myself, excited. The entrance slides shut seamlessly into the wall, becoming hidden once more.

"Right on time," Portia says contentedly. "Her ladyship will be joining us soon. May I show you to the dining room?" she drops into such an extravagant curtsy that I can't help but laugh. My brain rewinds.

"Sorry, did you say joining _us_?" Dining, like… me, dining, with the Countess?

"What, don't tell me you thought we wouldn't feed you?" She can't help but chuckle at my stunned expression. The only encounter I've had in my entire life with the upper class was when the Countess visited my shop last night. What do I do? How do I act? What fork am I supposed to use?

My pulse kicks into high gear and I struggle to regain some calm. Remember, I remind myself, how well you managed the guards out there? How you fought off an intruder last night? And Mephisto is here. His energy lingers at the fringes of my mind, comforting me further. And of course, Portia. She wouldn't leave me to struggle on my own.

Oblivious to my brief flash of panic, Portia pats my arm encouragingly. "Don't be shy. You're the guest of honor!"

My stomach gives one last lurch and then settles as I steel my resolve. Anxiety is just the other edge of excitement, so I convince myself that's what I'm feeling - incredibly, overwhelmingly, vomit-inducingly excited.

We come to a stop outside a fine mahogany door. Portia turns to me.

"We'll go in together, okay?" I nod. With one last smile, Portia pushes the door open and leads me inside.

Most immediately I notice the scent - richly spiced steam wafts from various covered dishes, unfamiliar and tantalizing. I inhale deeply, and the scents mingle deliciously on my palette. A quintet plays a soft, ambling melody. They're dressed in gauzy evening gowns. I try not to think about how the musicians are more appropriately dressed than I am.

A long table stretches in front of me, heavily laden with sturdy platters and delicate saucers, fine china and gleaming silverware. Glints of gold thread in the tablecloth sparkle as the candles flicker and dance on their wicks.

Portia leads me to a chair, pulls it out for me, and I sink into the plush velvet cushion. She retreats against the wall, waiting for the Countess to arrive. With the food even closer to me now, I realize how hungry I am and find it hard to restrain from shoving a flaky roll into my mouth. To occupy myself, I look around the room and my eye lands on a painting on the wall across from me.

The scene depicted is of a shared meal among a host of figures with the heads of beasts: a bull, a cow, a cougar, a dove, a wolf, a jaguar, and a horse's skull. The table is laden with fruits and small animals, and at the very center, holding court over the whole scene, is a richly dressed figure with the head of a white goat. Rays of gold stream out from its head and its red eyes are strangely life-like.

"I see you are admiring the painting."

I whip my head around toward the head of the table, the source of the sonorous voice. The Countess is taking her seat. She lowers herself to the velvet cushion and I note that whether it's in evening silks or a traveling cloak, she carries the same grace and poise. Her lips curve into a placid smile. Her eyes are unreadable. "Do you like it, Rose? The painting?"

I glance back at it. "No."

She laughs and then settles back into placidity.

"It is a peculiar piece. I cannot say I care much for it." Her tone is devoid of any real distaste, but I figure that has more to do with diplomacy than lying. "So, you might ask, 'Why does it remain on the wall where I must look at it always?'"

Am I supposed to actually ask? I open my mouth to do so, but at that moment a servant appears at my side with a bowl of cucumber and yogurt soup. I lose my resolve, taking it directly from the servant's hands and bringing it to my mouth.

"Sentimental value, I suppose. It was one of my husband's favorites."

Count Lucio? I'm surprised at the mention of him.

When I glance back at the painting, the image of the goat becomes familiar. Like I've seen it before. It's red eyes glow so vivid I can almost feel it returning my gaze.

"Beautiful red," I say, my mouth opening of its own accord.

"It is, isn't it." The Countess pauses. "More to the point, you have a spoon. I suggest using it."

My face grows hot as I lower the bowl and pick up the spoon, wiping none too discreetly at where some of the soup spilled onto my chin. When I glance at the Countess, amusement shimmers in her brilliant eyes.

As I eat my soup, one spoonful at a time, the Countess explains that the goat figure is Count Lucio, and that he saw himself as a provider and entertainer. He threw extravagant parties and spoiled his guests.

While she talks, my empty bowl is replaced by a plate of savories with delicate, flaky crusts. I exercise careful restraint this time, using a fork and knife to cut pieces off. I even chew slowly.

"Tell me, Rose. Did you ever attend our masquerade?" While I know about the masquerade - a lavish event held every year to celebrate Lucio's birthday - I'm not sure I remember ever having attended. "The Count was loved in this city, and now the peoples' fond memories of the masquerade are tinged with bitterness. We all were so deeply affected by the murder."

The repeated mentions of Count Lucio don't escape me and I'm starting to get the impression my being here and Count Lucio are somehow connected. My senses tingle, almost able to latch onto a thread of an idea that would allow me to see how everything connects, but it slips away.

I half listen to the Countess rail against the injustice and violence brought upon her home. My thoughts are whirling around last night's visits, the stranger this morning, and now… now this.

I was right, at least. Something big is happening.

"Countess," I say after I swallow a bite of pastry, "why did you ask me to come?"

"It is a difficult matter to speak about," she replies, stroking the smooth metal of a fork next to her plate. Servants lay our entrees before us and the Countess falls silent. I find myself no longer hungry.

What I know of Lucio's murder is a composite of rumors, tall tale, and whispers. The story is full of holes and there are more questions than answers. But no matter who you ask, it ends the same way: the Count retired to his chambers and by midnight, both he and chamber were engulfed in flames. The culprit, none other than one mysterious Doctor Devorak (and here the stories differ) either surrendered immediately or was captured on the spot, then escaped before he could be brought to justice.

"Rose, the masquerade is the reason why I called you here." The Countess' voice is laden with gravity. "I have been planning this for some time. This year, we will hold the masquerade once more. The gates will open, and the festivities in Lucio's honor will be more fantastical than ever."

Shock weighs down onto my stunned silence. Portia remains unphased.

"I have planned all the necessary details already. There is only one loose end in need of tying: the murderer. Too long he has evaded me. As long as he stalks the shadows of Vesuvia, I cannot guarantee the safety of my guests. I will bring him to justice before the people of this city." She looks directly at me. "Surely you know the murderer of whom I speak - Doctor Julian Devorak, my husband's trusted physician."

A terrible crash slices through the thick silence. All eyes shift to Portia, whose face is stricken with horror. At her feet, an upended plate of what I assume was some kind of cake lays smashed underneath a shattered plate.

The Countess looks at her with genuine concern. "Portia?"

"F-forgive me, my lady." Portia swallows, lowers her head. "Slippery hands."

As the dessert is cleared up, the Countess turns to me once more.

"This is where you come in, Rose. Doctor Devorak has remained very elusive." She says the name like it's acid in her mouth. "The palace guards cannot root him out. But you…" She leans in closer. "You come highly recommended. They say that you have surpassed your master already in skill." I briefly wonder who _they_ are; where _they_ would get that idea from. "I personally do not _prefer_ magic, but cannot deny the practicality it can offer. I myself see the future, and that is how I know that you will find that fraudulent doctor for me, the one who betrayed us and murdered my husband."

I choose my words carefully. "And if I find him?"

The Countess leans back. "_When_ you find him, he will be brought before the people so that all may see his long awaited punishment. If all goes according to plan, to commence the festivities of the Masquerade the doctor will die on the gallows."

We lock eyes with each other for a moment, gauging each other. I do my best to show nothing of what I'm feeling underneath her penetrating gaze. Then the Countess smiles slightly and stands. I hasten to follow suit, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I rise hurriedly.

"Portia. Show Rose to the guest quarters. I imagine there is much to ponder before the night is out."

"Yes, milady. Right away, milady."

"I wish to see more of this magic of yours, Rose," the Countess says as I back away from the table, Portia by my side. "And I look forward to our partnership."

I bow, and then we exit the dining room.

We walk in silence, footsteps echoing in the cavernous hallway. The Countess' words have left me much to think about about. I can sense that Portia, too, is perturbed, but I'm not sure how to ask why, or if I even should.

Portia leads me through a turn and we pass a wide staircase veiled in shadow. A draft rushes down, the cold air prickling my skin. It smells of ash. I strain to see where the stairs lead, but the darkness at the top is impenetrable.

Two ghostly white dogs lift their heads as we pass from where they're curled up together on the bottom step. They have long faces and lanky bodies and it's only when they silently rise and pad towards us that I realize that they are huge. They fix their fathomless gaze on me as they sniff the hand I hold out for their inspection. Underneath their placidity I sense a capacity for viciousness, but, for the moment, they're friendly. Their noses are cold and their huffing breath tickles my palm. The more they smell, the more their tails swing.

"Oh, my." I glance up to see Portia watching me and the dogs with wide eyes. "Well, this is bizarre. Those two were trained to never take kindly to strangers."

Slim snouts brush along my sides and legs as they investigate further, and then seemingly satisfied, sit back on their haunches and look at me expectantly. Wary and unsettled by their too-red eyes, I simply stare them down. After a moment the dogs duck their heads and return to the stairs.

Portia claps a hand to her forehead. "Oh, I've forgotten their chamomile cakes! They'll be up all night without them." She rounds on the dogs. "All right, you two. Keep Rose company. No growling, no snapping, and no biting!" She smiles at me, but I'm well aware that it isn't a joke. She disappears through a side panel in the wall and the silence that falls in her wake is deafening.

When I turn back around to the dogs, I jump back in alarm. They're standing behind me, close enough for me to touch, but I never heard them move. They glance at each other and then back away again. As I watch them - resolved, now, not take my eyes off them until Portia gets back - an unsettling sensation ripples through me.

_Oh, hello, hello! What do we have here… A guest?_

I whip around to find the source of the voice, but I'm still alone. This is the second time in as many days that an unseen voice has scared the living daylights out of me and I can't say I'd like to make a habit of it.

Magic tingles at the back of my neck and I know that it came from the top of the stairs. I peer up, unwilling to get any closer, but the gloom is impenetrable.

Suddenly the dogs leap forward and clamp their teeth into my cloak, draggin me towards the stairs so powerfully that I trip up the first few steps. I try to wrench myself free and scramble back down to the bottom, but their jaws grip tightly and I'm led up into the gloom.

The air is frigid and smells of ash and I can barely see my hand in front of my face. I summon a weak glimmer of light into my palm and notice that the dogs are suddenly gone. Ahead of me is a door, part-way open, a deeper darkness seeping out of it. The darkness pulses with its own energy, beckoning me to draw closer. I feel dizzy and a cold sweat breaks out on my back as I turn and run, seeing a silhouette out of the corner of my eye. It's stark white, with glowing red eyes and horns. Sweltering heat chases me as I scramble downstairs and plant my back against the wall.

Portia emerges from the wall panel holding two cakes in her hands. She looks around, then at me.

"Where did the dogs go? Upstairs?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Portia drops the cakes on the bottom step and takes my elbow, gently leading me further down the hallway.

"Let's get you to bed. You've had a long day."

If she notices anything strange in my behavior, she doesn't say anything about it.

Grateful, I let her lead me away from the dogs and the voice. She shows me my room and tells me that she'll wake me up for breakfast at sunrise, to make myself comfortable and to treat the room as my own during my stay. I'm too exhausted to do much other than let my bag fall to the floor, fatigue beginning to overtake me as Portia turns to leave. Before completely closing the door behind her, she says my name softly.

"Rose…" I give her my full attention, pausing my fingers as they struggle to undo my cloak. "We're really glad you're here. The Countess has been so isolated since the murder…" she sighs. "She needs you. So if there's anything _you_ need, come find me, alright?" Haloed in the light from the hallway, Portia looks angelic as she smiles at me.

"Thank you Portia." I cross to her and on impulse, wrap her in a hug. She hugs me back affectionately. Her eyes are glassy when she pulls back and she wishes me goodnight. I wish her the same and close the door behind her.

I make quick work of shedding my clothes and bury into the luxurious sheets, sinking into the mattress and surrendering myself to sleep.

Except, sleep keeps rejecting me.

Giving up on tossing-and-turning, I sit up in bed. Then, like a drop of water on my forehead, I can feel magic. It's faint, barely there, but I feel it. I slip on my shoes and grab my bag, opening the door as quietly as possible and checking the hallway for any servants. The hanging lanterns are still lit, but there isn't a soul in sight.

Half-awake, my senses guide me towards the source. I hear a flutter of wings and Mephisto glides towards me from behind, circling once before landing on my shoulder. I feel better having him with me, and from the way he nuzzles his beak against my ear I can tell he feels the same way. He settles his head under his wing to take a nap as we navigate the twists and turns, emerging onto a balcony.

The veranda is bathed in starry light, and a balmy breeze brushes through my hair. I close my eyes, relishing the feeling. The tug of magic, stronger now, spurs me back into motion. From this height, I can see over the garden maze into the clearing at the center. Immediately I know where to go. The magic forms a kind of stream, almost visible in the night air and it's easy to follow.

As we near the center, I realize why the magic feels so strong to me: there's a fountain there, the water splashing and cascading musically, amplifying the magic reaching out to me.

A wide gazing pool surrounds the fountain, and an old willow tree dips its branches in and out with the ebb and flow of the breeze. And hanging from the tree is none other than Faust.

"What on earth are you doing here?" I ask her. She flicks her tongue from her spot over the gazing pool, watching me with a gleam in her eye that says she wants to show me something. I take a seat on the stone ledge of the gazing pool and lean over to peer in the water.

I concentrate on the shapes and reflections rippling on the surface, and the colors and shadows quickly coalesce into an image of Asra. I'm so shocked that I can see him that all I can do is gape silently, afraid any noise will break the spell. Then, Asra blinks and looks right at me.

"Rose?" he asks, eyes wide. "Can you hear me?" I nod, still unable to summon words. Asra laughs. "Incredible." He's sitting cross-legged, a strange beast resting its head on his knee. He looks around. "Ah, and there's Faust. Looks like she found you, alright. Are you at the palace?"

Finally over the shock of whatever kind of magic this is, I tell him about everything that happened to lead me here: the Countess, the Doctor, the Stranger, Portia, the Countess' request, the goat… it makes my head spin, thinking about everything that's happened in the past two days.

"Unbelievable. The day that I leave you is the day you needed me the most. Then again, you didn't really need me at all." His face falls for a moment, and more to himself than to me, he says, "So he's back…"

I'm getting tired of all these references to this ambiguous "he" that's returning.

Asra shakes his head, dispelling his thoughts, then looks up and smiles. "I'm glad Faust is with you, at least. I would guess that she had something to do with this."

"I'm glad she's here, too." I glance at Faust, now hanging upside down from the branch and looking very proud of herself.

As I'm forming the right way to phrase my question about what exactly I saw up the stairs in that darkness, an echo of a voice rings in my ears at the same moment a low pulsing headache throbs. The melodic trickle of water washes both away. Asra opens his mouth like he's about to say something, then smiles gently.

"When will you be back?" I ask. There was something else I wanted to ask, wasn't there…?

"Soon, I hope." The beast groans, though I can't tell whether in agreement, and lifts its head sleepily. Asra sighs.

"Looks like we've rested long enough. We have to go, but I'm really glad I got to see you."

He rises, and with one last glance, walks away. A wall of rust colored sand blows through the image with a roar, and the image fades, leaving me staring into the bottom of the gazing pool.

I huff and rest my forehead in my hand. More questions, never answers. I really should do a reading for myself.

Asra once said that magic is what you do to make the outcome you desire a reality. So was it my desire to see him? His desire to see me? I look at Faust, who's wound her way up my leg and wrapped herself around my arm. Yawning, I wonder if I can make my desire for a full night's sleep a reality.

I sneak back through the palace to my room and lay my head on the pillow, only to be woken up - what feels like - minutes later by a knock on the door and Portia's cheery voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Portia sweeps into the room, the embodiment of a ray of sunshine. She bears a tray of sweet and savory pastries, a carafe of coffee, and a pile of clothes.

"We'll just… launder these for you," she says, carrying away the clothes I wore yesterday.

After eating a few pastries and lying about how well I slept, I slip into one of the dresses that Portia laid out for me and quickly sip a steaming cup of aromatic coffee. Portia told me the Countess would be waiting for me at the library and I'm eager to keep my reputation of punctuality.

Just outside the door, Portia is waiting for me. She winks when she sees me. "Ooh, that color is perfect on you!" I blush at the compliment.

As we walk, I marvel at the delicate fabric of the dress, how light and airy it feels on my skin: the neckline dips gently around my collarbone. Before leaving my room I couldn't help myself and spun in a circle, watching the skirt flare out and then settle, swinging gently, around my knees. With my hair down around my shoulders, I feel like a princess.

We come to a halt before a huge wooden panel, finely crafted in all the colors of rippling honey. In the middle, a tree at the height of maturity is carved in dizzying intricacy. Its leaves and fruit are inlaid with jewels, precious stones, and mother of pearl.

"It's milady's own work. Beautiful, isn't it?"

We marvel at the tree together. Then, Portia recovers and retrieves a ring of keys from her pocket. There are a dozen or more, each carved of the same wood as the panel, each bearing a distinct jewel. One by one, she finds their locks in the panel. With each turning key, the roots of the tree unwind from each other, pulling free from the floor. I watch, mesmerized. It isn't magic, that much I can tell. The craftsmanship is beyond my comprehension.

When all the locks have been turned, the panel folds upon itself on either side like a paper fan, and the library is revealed.

There are books… everywhere. They're stacked in shelves as tall as the ceiling, filling every inch of wall space around the massive room. I lift my eyes to the stained glass window through which a warm, delicate light filters through. There's a second level, a balcony, with rows and rows of shelves. In the center of the room, three stuffed armchairs are arranged around a low table. In one of the chairs sits the Countess.

She eyes me with approval.

"Rose, you look positively radiant." Again, I blush. "This way, if you please."

She leads us deep into the shelves. Apart from the jingling of Portia and her giant key ring behind us, the library is bathed in stillness. The energy throughout the room is comfortable and settles over me like a warm blanket. I can't stop staring at the books and resist the temptation to run my fingers along their spines.

Apparently this palace is full of things to test my resolve.

The Countess notices. "Rose," she says, chastising, "you _are_ my guest. If you should like to return here, you need only ask. Everything here is at your disposal. But for the moment…" We stop at an alcove, nestled between the shelves. "... I would have your undivided attention here."

The desk sits underneath a slim window, high overhead, and a ray of sunlight shines on it, illuminating books, papers, scrolls, and journals covering every inch of the desk in haphazard piles that still somehow have a feeling of organization to them. Someone's place of study, preserved in time.

"Can you guess whose desk this was?" the Countess asks me. Her tone reminds me of Asra's, when he's testing me but doesn't think I know that he is.

I step closer to the desk and close my eyes, measuring my breaths. There are so many memories here, lingering like ghosts. Drawing on my magic, I open my eyes. I can see the traces now, faint as steam on a cooling cup of tea. I reach out to touch it, and it meets my hand and curls warmly around my fingers. My heart skips when I recognize where I've felt this energy before.

"Doctor Devorak," I murmur.

"That is truly impressive," the Countess remarks. Surprise and delight mingle in her voice. I reluctantly release the connection. Devorak's memories slip away, leaving my fingers cold as they fade. "He was employed at the Palace, as was your Master Asra. We called upon them to concoct a cure for the plague."

I try to mask my surprise at this new information by feigning sudden interest in a pile of jewel-toned cushions and pillows tucked into a nearby corner. The energy that radiates from them is undoubtedly Asra's, familiar and comforting, and this confirms the Countess' words. I was aware already that Devorak had sought a cure. Asra never told me that he had been working with the doctor.

Though, that does explain just how they knew each other in the first place.

The Countess' gaze shifts to the window, which overlooks the willow tree and fountain I discovered last night.

"I have had the desk and its contents examined laboriously," she explains. "Nothing of consequence has been found. But I now have no doubt that you will make better use of it. It is the best lead I can offer you."

She draws away and her jasmine perfume wafts over me.

"The search for Doctor Devorak is now in your hands. You proceed as you see fit. I ask only that you meet with me for dinner this evening." Then she sweeps out of the room, Portia at her heels.

Silence settles over the library as I'm left alone with Devorak's desk. I inspect the books and scrolls, I feeling faintly the doctor's presence, though my connection to him is too weak for me to bring any memories to the surface. I do, however, get a grim idea of what finding a cure for the plague involved: pages are spotted with old bloodstains, illegible notes are scrawled in the margins and in clumps around anatomical drawings of… I don't actually want to think about what exactly I'm looking at. Despite this collection of the macabre, I can't help but smile at his atrocious handwriting.

One loose page in particular draws my eye. It's a drawing, the lines meticulous. The patterns and shapes are somehow familiar, like I'd seen them all before. I trace one with my fingertip and hair on my arm stands on end. The ink holds a trace of… desperation… single-minded purpose. An echo of what Devorak was feeling, drawing these symbols. I roll the drawing into a tight scroll and put it into my bag.

I inspect another loose piece of paper, squinting at the page. I'm not sure if I'm holding it upside down or not. I've rotated it three times when I make out the word "sister". Yes - "Dear sister". My eyes revolt from the stress and I blink to soothe them. No one has mentioned that he has any relatives, but then again, everything about him is shrouded in mystery.

Eyes closed, I brush my fingers along the dried ink and another connection jumps out at me - fear; self-loathing; resignation.

The weight of these emotions overwhelms me and I sink into the chair behind the desk, tears leaking from my eyes. There was no end to suffering during the plague, no matter who you were. After a few moments the emotions pass, and I assess what I have so far: two possible connections to Julian.

As I roll up this scroll, too, and tuck it into my bag, I realize with a jolt of excitement that I might actually be able to find him.

A glance out of the large stained glass window reveals that it's a bit before noon. If I'm quick, I should be back in time for dinner with the Countess.

I move quickly. The sun is just past its crux in the sky as I re-enter the city. My breath grows short as tremors of anxiety radiate from my gut, spreading to my fingertips. I haven't tried magic like this before.

Halfway down the stairs to the marketplace, I gather my thoughts, slow down my breathing, and, holding a scroll in each hand, gather my magic. A tingling sensation grows at the base of my neck. I return the scrolls to my bag and resume walking.

Mephisto caws suddenly from overhead, and we strengthen our connection. Together we navigate the city streets, his sight from above keeping me from getting trapped in dead ends as I follow the ebb and flow of the tingling sensation.

We emerge into a crossroads between alleyways somewhere in the South End. The sun hovers in the late afternoon sky, casting long shadows on the shabby cobblestones. Ruddy water swirls in the sluggish canal and slicks the stones bordering it with sludge-like moisture. Apartments crowd up against each other, leaning over the street on sagging beams.

The tingling at the back of my neck is so strong it creates a humming in my ears. I stand in place, eyes closed, turning in every direction but not feeling a pull in any of them. Mephisto settles on my shoulder, feeling just as perplexed as I do.

A door in front of me swings suddenly open and bangs against the wall, throwing amber light onto the street. I startle and lose the trail, Mephisto taking flight in alarm. The tingling dissipates from the back of my neck, my heart pounds. A figure steps out, calling behind him, "Oh, I'll be back. Just stepping out for some air."

If his height weren't a dead giveaway, I'd know that voice anywhere.

My heart doesn't have a chance to settle as it jumps both at seeing Julian again - no cloak in sight, his shirt open at the chest - and at the excitement of my success. Though, now, I'm not quite sure what to do.

He hasn't seen me yet where I'm standing in a patch of shadows. He half turns, trading insults with someone inside. An instinct to run, to not get caught following him (again) takes over. I turn and bolt…

… and careen headfirst into an empty barrel. I hadn't noticed it before, when I was completely absorbed in following the trail. In the corner of my mind I can hear Mephisto laughing.

I'm precariously balanced, hinged at my waist and unable to reach neither the ground with my feet, nor the bottom of the barrel with my arms. Going forward would land me in a tangle, and going backwards would tip the whole thing over. Unfavorable in either direction.

And Mephisto is laughing his taunting crow's laugh, being completely useless.

Then another sound - bootsteps approaching.

Oh Gods. Oh no.

"Hello," Julian calls from directly behind me. "Are you alright?"

I'm acutely aware that though he can't see my face, there is something else on display for his viewing pleasure. My face grows hot.

"Uh, yes! I'm fine, thank you," I respond. Maybe he'll just go away.

"You certainly do _look_ fine," he flirts, "and you look like a damsel in need of rescue. Allow me."

Before I can say no, Julian has his hands around my waist and is lifting me out like I weigh nothing. He sets me upright and the blood rushes to my head. "Easy," he says, holding my elbow as I sway. I try to keep my face turned away, but I'm so disoriented I don't know which way is which. I blink and catch a glimpse of auburn hair and the startled expression on Julian's face.

"The shopkeep? What are you doing here?"

"Just leaving," I squeak out. Another wave of vertigo (a latent side effect of the magic) passes over me and I turn the wrong way in my second attempt at escape, slamming into Julian's broad chest. He wraps an arm around my waist to keep me from falling again, and good thing, too, since my legs apparently don't feel like working properly once he has his arm around me.

Mephisto is still laughing.

We glance at each other, mutually flustered by our proximity. He recovers first, a charming smile crossing his lips.

"I do tend to have that effect on people," he says flirtatiously. I color even more and push him off with no real strength, but he lets me go. I hold the edge of the barrel for a moment while my vision clears and the vertigo settles. When I glance back at Julian, he flicks his eyes away from the path they were making down my body.

I get a better look around and silently curse Mephisto for not giving me a warning about the barrel. We're behind a tavern, well-hidden from the street. On the door, someone's painted a surprisingly life-like blackbird, cackling and laying back on a crescent moon. Underneath, "The Rowdy Raven".

"Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods?" Julian asks, leaning casually against the wall. Like he isn't a fugitive. Like I'm not supposed to be bringing him in to hang.

How do I even begin to explain?

Asra's words return to me: _magic is what you do to make the outcome you desire a reality._ I wouldn't have found Julian if I didn't want to.

"Sightseeing," I say, and that's truth enough.

Golden sunlight glows on the ground between us. He studies me, eyes flicking across my face as he puzzles something out. "Rumor has it that you're working for the Palace."

I shrug. "Working _with_ them is more accurate."

He raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to call for the Palace guards? Send them after me? Clap my wrists in shackles?"

I hide a smile. "No, I'm not."

"But I'm sure - well, by now - you've heard some interesting stories about me."

"Nothing I didn't already hear."

A glint appears in his eye. "Well then. How refreshing. I bet I can tell you something you haven't heard," he offers. He knows it's tantalizing and I can't help but step closer.

"And what's that?" I ask, not even trying to hide my interest as I look at him.

He blushes slightly under the scrutiny - or maybe it's just the light. "My side of the story."

"You're right. I haven't heard that."

I wonder why he isn't more wary of me. Then again, he's clearly wondering why I'm not more wary of him.

"Besides, I still owe you for the reading. Are you thirsty? My treat."

I consider his proposal for far less time than I should. "Now that you mention it, I am."

His face splits in a brilliant smile and it leaves me breathless.

"Oh, fantastic." He steps forward, a hand at the small of my back ushering me forward. "Right this way, madame." He reaches a long arm around me and pulls the door open, guiding me into the warmth.

The tavern is already in full swing, bursting with the cacophonous symphony of raucous laughter from a group at the bar, shrill bickering from a table of card-playing crones, squabbling from the group watching the crones' card game, and the clink and thud of steins throughout the whole place.

The barkeep, a scar-faced and barrel-armed man, gives the doctor a cheeky salute when we pass by. A cackling drunkard swings out a wooden leg, which Julian politely pushes aside. Tutting, he guides me to a cozy booth in the back.

"You make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." He breezes past me and heads back towards the bar. I'm itching to dive into the life all around me, to talk to people and join the card game, yet sit still reluctantly. My gaze is drawn to Julian up at the bar, where he's chatting with the barkeep. They both erupt into peals of laughter at some joke.

He looks perfectly at ease. And that smile, devoid of any trace of flirtation, insinuation, or mischief… He looks happy. So different from the first time we met.

He turns, making his way back with our drinks. I turn my attention to the crones so he doesn't catch me staring. Julian sets a mug before me, then slides into the opposite booth, taking a swig from his drink with gusto. I peer into the golden liquid in my cup. It smells faintly like fruit.

Frowning, I reach forward and grab his hand, pulling his arm toward me as I gulp down his drink, holding his gaze as I do. When I put the cup down, he maintains his grip on the cup. Julian gives me a coy look and shifts his hand, causing our fingers to interlock. Heat flares under my cheeks. I push my mug towards him, looking at him dead in the eye and refusing to break eye contact.

"Very smart." He grins slowly, pulling my stein towards him. "Never trust a free drink."

I clear my throat. "You said you'd tell me your side of the story."

"Oh, I did, didn't I? How careless of me." He sighs. "It must have been some spell you cast on me, standing there in the golden light of the sun." He laughs at my incredulous expression, then he leans back in the booth. His long limbs splay out. "Alright, ask anything you like."

I take out the rolled parchment with the strange drawing on it and slide it across the table. He takes it and as he traces the lines and curves, the laughter slips from his face. He leans over the page, frowning in concentration. The map-like, winding patterns draw me in once again. I find myself leaning over the scroll for a closer look. I look up when I feel Julian's eye on me.

"Where did you find this?" he asks quietly, his breath barely strong enough to disturb the flame of the candle on the table.

"It was on your desk in the palace library."

"Oh." He looks away, but not before I see a flinch of pain cross his face. "Well, this is a slice of… of a human brain. The patterns are unique, actually, to each individual."

"Individual?" I meet his gaze. "You've seen a lot of brains sliced like this?"

Julian steeples his fingers and rests his chin on his thumbs. His expression is ghastly.

"There are other drawings, aren't there? At the palace?" I nod, and he drumbs his fingers on his clenched jaw in clear distress. "Well, you'd better put this one back. Trust me, they'll notice it's gone." As if he can't stand to look at it a moment longer, he rolls it up and hands it to me. "Excuse me."

I take it and stow it safely in my bag while Julian whisks the empty steins away, heading back to the bar. My bag feels heavier now, as if the page itself took on the weight of his ominous words. I decide not to bring out the other scroll I brought with me.

Something happens at the card table and the card-playing crones raise their voices, gesticulating at each other with accusatory fingers. Julian whispers to one of the crones as he passes by, and taps a single card in her hand. The card is played, throwing the crowd into chaos. Julian ducks away just as someone throws their drink. He dodges most of it nimbly, chuckling. He wipes a fleck of moisture from his shirt when he returns to his seat.

"You would think I'd know better than to get involved."

I raise an eyebrow. He's not wearing a mask here, and everyone seems to know him.

"You're not worried about being seen?"

"Here? No, no. I'm not too worried. Folks around here aren't known to, uh, oblige the wants and wishes of the Palace. Even the raven spends his time scouting for guards. Obsessively."

Together we scan the smoky rafters (Mephisto is up there, even though I can't see him) while I process what he told me. It's… a little surprising. Where Asra and I live, the guards are treated with reverence in fear in no small measure.

Suddenly Julian leans forward, drawing my attention.

"You know, I never did get your name."

"You never asked."

He fakes a pained expression, throwing one hand across his brow and the other over his heart. "You torture me. I'll beg if I have to."

I laugh and make it easy for him. "Rose."

"Ah, Rose." He offers his hand and I take it, determined to not be intimidated by his leathery grip. "Now that is a name. Such strength, such presence." My heart flutters.

I'm interrupted in asking my next question as a man strides up to our table. He's staring at me maliciously, a frown etched on his face.

"We all know you work for the palace," he says, pointing a finger at me. "We don't take kindly to your type coming in and causing trouble."

"I'm not here to cause trouble," I reply calmly.

"Then what are you here to do, witch?"

The word hits me like a slap in the face. Julian jumps in.

"Now, Gerhardt, that's completely -" but I cut him off, holding up my hand to silence him.

"It's a valid question. I'm here to find answers." I struggle to control my anger. And fail. My next words leap out of my mouth like flames. "And you? You seem to be looking to cause trouble yourself."

"Ah, Rose?" Julian's worried voice floats quietly across the table. I don't acknowledge his warning. Gerhardt glares venomously.

"I keep the order around here. And you won't be finding any answers until we duel."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"You come in here with the threat of bringing the Palace guards down on our heads, and then you insult me? We duel."

I shoot upright, making Gerhardt take a few steps back from the table.

"Fine," I find myself saying, anger coursing hot through my veins. "I accept."

"Oh, a fiery one," Gerhardt says to Julian, who stands next to me and rests his hand on the small of my back. "Why not raise the stakes as well? I won't kill you. But if you win, I won't give you any trouble coming here again - no one will. If you lose, you never come back."

Well, good. He won't kill me. What a consolation.

I nod. "Deal. Name the time and place."

Gerhardt raises his arms, turns to address the entire bar. "Why not here and now?"

Shit.


	5. Chapter 5

It's at this moment I remember something about myself: I don't know anything about dueling. Or fighting, in general. My life with Asra is so tranquil that until this moment, I hadn't even considered that this was something people did when they had a disagreement.

The tavern is filled with the sound of scraping wood as the bargoers move chairs and tables out of the way. Anticipation crackles through the air and more rounds of drinks are ordered. The barkeep holds off on pouring pints long enough to toss Gerhardt two epees from a backroom. Gerhardt catches them and flips one in the air with one hand, catching it by the blade and extending the handle to me.

"You know how to fence?" he asks, expecting me to admit that I don't.

I reach out and grab the epee, the metal of the handle cool under my palm. I should just admit I don't and walk away. I sigh.

"I do."

I… I do? That wasn't what I was going to say, but I search myself and know that I spoke the truth.

I _do_ know how to fence - I learned once, a long time ago, but I'd forgotten, like I've forgotten so much about myself. Tightening my grip on the handle, memories flash through my mind of the movements, the footwork, lunges and parries. A grin spreads across my face.

"Rose?" Julian is still beside me. His expression of concern is washed away by a smirk when he sees me grinning. "Why Rose, you almost look excited to be dueling illegally in a tavern on the rough side of town."

"Oh, I do?" I put a hand on my hip and toss my hair over my shoulder, posing. "How does it suit me?"

This time he doesn't even try to hide his appreciation of what he sees.

"Very, very well."

"If you two are done," Gerhardt interjects, looking at Julian like he's gone insane, "shall we?"

"Go easy on him," Julian calls as I step into the cleared space in the middle of the tavern.

We salute each other (_in the Vesuvian way,_ my memories tell me), a series of whirling flourishes. The spectators surround us in a wide berth, already cheering so wildly that I read his lips more than hear him when Gerhardt says, "_En garde_."

"_Touche_," I shout back, and we step towards each other. Left hand raised, left foot back, right foot poised, epees crossed.

"_Like a scorpion," my fencing teacher lectures, walking in a slow circle around me, "the stinger is the most deadly. With fencing, too, one touch is the end of the duel."_

"_And what are the claws?" I ask. My teacher uses her foot to adjust how mine is positioned._

"_The claws are your wits."_

Gerhardt disengages the blades first, testing me with a series of simple attacks and beats that are easy to parry. I see an opening and return fire. We shift back and forth like this for a few moments, advancing and retreating in an easy rhythm, both of us warming up and testing each other.

Then the real duel begins.

Gerhardt feints and pivots. He steps around me; extends his blade to try and score a touch on my back. I parry just in time, almost tangling my feet and tripping. I keep our blades engaged and glissade to put Gerhardt on the defence. He yields; I disengage, doublet. He parries it easily; advances with a series of lightning-fast thrusts, his blade never at rest. With a coupee his sword drops inside my guard and I scramble. I parry; beat his blade away. He wasn't expecting that and I launch myself at the opening.

"Careful of my dress," I taunt as I drive him backwards, "it was a gift from the Countess."

For every parry he makes, I disengage and seek to get inside of his guard. His parries get sloppy as he tries to keep up, and I aim a few attacks at his arms before disengaging to swipe at his head. He jumps back, putting us out of sword's reach. Both of us are panting.

The crowd is still cheering but it sounds far away: all of my focus is on the man and blade in front of me.

We circle each other. I sense the attack more than see it coming but I feign surprise as Gerhardt leaps forward, a balestra that I allow to chase me back behind a table. The crowd ebbs and flows, maintaining the boundaries of our makeshift arena.

_My fencing teacher flexes her legs, ready to lunge. I retreat in anticipation and she stops, suddenly dropping her blade._

"_What are you doing?"_

_I feel my cheeks burn. "You were going to lunge so I retreated."_

"_Never show your opponent that you know what they're going to do," she scolds. "They'll change their tactics and then you lose the upper hand."_

Gerhardt jumps on top of the table, gaining a height advantage. A few among the crowd get the idea to push another table up against it, and Julian darts forward and pulls me out of the way, spinning me into him, as they slide the table into place.

"Thanks." I look up at him, breathless from our proximity, as well as the duel.

"_Allez_," he replies with a wicked grin, and spins me back out to face Gerhardt. Julian's energy is infectious - it sets me on fire and I leap up onto the table.

The crowd gathers around the raised arena. Their excitement mounts - I can hear calls of money and odds among onlookers. It feels different up here, more like a show than a battle. I see the faint line of a smile on Gerhardt's face and wonder if he's feeling the same way I am.

Not wanting to stay on the defensive, I launch into my own balestra and feint low, then attack high. We go back and forth, never moving more than two steps in either direction.

We're an even match and reach a stalemate. For every opening one of us creates, the other closes it off; for every retreat, a clever move that transfers power. My muscles burn from the exertion.

I see the frustration building in Gerhardt's face and I'm ready when he surges forward aggressively, throwing such power into his attacks that they land like claps of thunder on my blade. He's ready to end this. I let myself be driven back, waiting for the right moment.

I'm almost at the end of the table when I see my chance: Gerhardt winds up his thrusts for a second longer than he should, pistoning back before launching his arm forward. If I can get inside his blade….

With a flourish, Gerhart aims an attack at my head and I parry, using my left hand to brace the blade. The force of its landing takes me down, my left foot slipping off the table. My knee cracks on the edge. I hear someone yell my name. Gerhardt disengages**:** begins to piston back his arm.

The next moments happen in slow motion: Gerhardt begins his thrust. I raise myself up, my right leg on fire from the effort. I aim, throwing my body forward. Gerhardt's eyes widen, but he can't pull back his momentum. The tip of my epee makes contact with the hilt of his. It flies out of his hand, his wrist jerking backwards. I catch his epee, extending the point centimeters from his chest**;** parallel to my own blade.

The tavern falls dead silent save for the sounds of our harried breathing. Gerhardt flicks his eyes between the two blades, his expression hard, then stares at me. I hold my breath.

With a nod he throws his hands up in surrender and steps back, a grin spreading across his face. The crowd erupts with cheers and clapping.

I lay the blades on the table and stand upright, favoring my left knee, and return his grin. Gerhardt approaches me and takes my hand in both of his, shaking it.

"Very, very good!" he praises. "I've not had a challenge like that in years!" Then, over the exuberant crowd, he yells, "A round for everyone on me!" And the noise turns into a roar.

Suddenly, my feet are swept out from under me and I'm placed gently on the edge of the table. Julian stands in front of me and I still have to look up at him to meet his eyes (Arcana above is he tall).

He's looking at me with so much admiration that I blush.

"That was fantastic! I've never seen anything like it!" His praise makes me blush deeper. "Beautiful and dangerous - like a hawk - so natural behind a blade, so cunning and precise!" I laugh and swat his arm, but he doesn't stop. "Your footwork - as light as a dancer's! Your blade - like a wasp!" He starts shuffling back and forth in the advance and retreat of fencing, arm extended in front of him and finger pointed like a blade. "Just when everything seemed lost, you struck from below like a shark from the deep, disarmed the master himself, turned his own blade against him!"

"Just like your own mouth turns against you, eh, Julian?" Gerhardt comments, coming up behind Julian with three mugs in his hands.

Julian starts and drops his arms, chastised. I reach out and take his hand, still laughing, and he flushes and grins at me shyly.

"Welcome to the Rowdy Raven," Gerhardt says to me. He hands each of us a mug and we toast, clinking glasses.

"I'd like to come back for a rematch," I tell him. "Maybe next time you'll beat me."

Gerhardt laughs fully. "You won't catch me off-guard again."

"You'd be surprised, Gerhardt," Julian chimes in. "She'll surprise you when you least expect it." He's pinning me with _that _look again - the one that makes me feel like**,** if this tavern weren't full of people, we'd be putting this table to _very_ good use.

Gerhardt raises his glass to Julian's statement and wanders off again, eyeing Julian with a poorly hidden smirk on his lips.

I take a sip and return Julian's gaze over the rim of our mugs. I swallow and lick the drops of beer off my lips. His eyes follow every movement hungrily. Then he drops his gaze and hurriedly kneels in front of me.

"How's the leg?" he asks, gently raising the hem of my dress. I tug it up for him completely out of the way, exposing the skin of my thighs. He turns redder, pretending not to notice.

"Suddenly shy?" I tease, and Julian's ears turn pink in response.

I lean over and look as he rests one hand under the bend in my knee and holds my calf with the other, raising my leg up slowly. It doesn't hurt at first, but the more my leg extends, the more pain there is until I let out a slow hiss.

No wonder why. There's a bruise the size of a Prakran mango blooming on my knee from where it made contact with the table. It's mottled black, purple, and red. A bypasser bumps Julian's elbow, and his arm jerks my leg into a full extension. I grip Julian's shoulder to keep from crying out at the explosion of pain.

Tears prick my eyes and pool at the corners. In a flash Julian is cupping my face, wiping them away with this thumbs.

"I didn't mean to - I'm sorry I-" he struggles to find the words, looking stricken. I catch his face in my hands as well, to both still and silence him. It works.

"It wasn't your fault." I say this simply. "I know you wouldn't hurt me." And because I can't help but tease him, I add, "Unless I wanted you to, that is."

As we smile shyly at each other, I marvel at how it feels as though I've known him more deeply than our few chance meetings would allow. And I want more. It's like I'd been standing in a dim room and Julian threw the curtains back to let in the sun.

Just yesterday I reprimanded myself for chasing after him, but knowing now what being together could be like… I may be crazy for wanting this, but I do. I want him.

Suddenly, a raven (the same one from the market) bursts in through a dusty window overhead, flying in loops with a guttural shriek. It beats its wings against a string of bells, and the tavern erupts into chaos. Mephisto joins the raven in shrieking: I think just for fun.

The barkeep hops up onto the bar, flailing his arms. "Guards! Palace guards!"

Patrons claw their way out every door and window, knocking over chairs and sending playing cards fluttering through the air. As I take in the chaos around me, Julian scoops me bodily from the edge of the table and rushes me out the back door into the alley. The one with the barrels.

It's getting cold and the sun is almost set completely. Julian casts a frantic glance up and down the alley before crowding me into the shadows.

"You'll be able to find your way, yes? The guards aren't after you, after all."

I nod, and Julian rests his hands on my shoulders, then slides them down my arms to pick up my hands. He looks deep into my eyes. "It was a pleasure passing the evening with you, Rose. But I really must run."

He raises my hand and turns it over, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin on my wrist. My breath catches. Julian looks up at me, eyes suddenly dark with lust, and I desperately wish that we had more time to explore this moment further. But we can both hear the clank of armor nearing our hiding place, and with one last mischievous grin, Julian turns and vanishes.

I had hoped he might give me answers, but all I have are more swirling questions - not just about what was going on at the Palace, but also about my own past.

I walk slowly out of the alley, lost in thought, and am immediately accosted by a guard.

"Hey! You there!" Two armed guards are approaching. They march forward until they're close enough to see my face, then they stop.

"Oh," says the one on the right. "The Countess' magician." They both give me a short, sharp bow. "I'm Ludovico. We met yesterday at the gates."

"Yes." I nod, and I surprise myself with my own easy confidence. "I'm supposed to dine with the Countess tonight. But it's getting late. Would you hail me a carriage?"

Ludovico jumps into action. "Right away, my lady."

The palace looms over the carriage as we approach, a white monolith against the twinkling sky. Portia is waiting for me at the gates, unusually quiet - not at all her cheery self. I don't do much to help improve her mood, lost in my own tangled thoughts again.

The doors to the dining room swing open as we arrive to reveal an extravagant meal piled high upon the long table, just as exquisite as yesterday. The Countess is already seated.

"You're right on time, Rose. I hope your day was fruitful."

A servant seats me and fills my glass with a pale rose beverage. The floral aroma reminds me of the Countess' perfume.

"First," the Countess says as I take a sip of the delicate wine, "let us attend to some small matters. My courtiers are most eager to meet you, and I shall introduce you to them tomorrow afternoon. They will want to know everything about you, but choose wisely what you wish to tell. I will be informing them of the masquerade as well. I imagine they will be ecstatic."

I nod slowly as I chew. The intricacies of the court are completely foreign to me. But… I did just fence on a table in a tavern. What could be trickier than that? Besides, I can trust that the Countess won't allow me to be an embarrassment to her (or to myself).

"And tomorrow at noon, Portia will lead a retinue into the town square to announce the masquerade. Once the townspeople hear, word will spread on its own. I imagine the crowds will be eager to see Count Lucio's murderer hang."

Ah, yes. My mission. I can't help but imagine Julian, one moment bathed in the warm light of the tavern, and in the next swinging from the gallows. My stomach plummets but I'm careful not to let it show on my face.

"But these are tomorrow's matters." The Countess sighs, spears a piece of vegetable with her fork. "Tonight, Rose, I have questions."

"Questions?" I brace myself for the inevitable queries about where I'd been; what I'd been doing; why I look so sweaty.

"Yes! I wish to become familiar with you."

I pause, mid-chew. I didn't expect her to have an interest in me.

"Let us be strangers no longer. May tonight be the beginning of a valuable friendship." She smiles at me, and I return it, happy to wash away my worries and fears with conversation and wine.

We talk easily, meandering through a variety of topics: How do I enjoy the town (I love it); what are my daily goings on (usually running the business of shopkeeping); my favorite thing to eat (beef pies… or almond pastries). I ask her questions in turn, and learn that she loves riding on sunny days, and her favorite food is spiced swordfish (I've never tried it).

As we slip further and further into conversation, she pauses, suddenly shy of the servants listening around us. The Countess offers to continue our conversation in her room and a nightcap. I shake my head, which is beginning to pulse with a headache.

"No, thank you, Countess."

"Ah, are you tired? Or perhaps shy…?" She lays her hand over mine. "It is quite alright, Rose. I understand completely. I do hope you have a pleasant evening. Portia, please show our guest back to her room. And Rose… please, call me Nadia."

Portia leads me away. I think I'd be able to reach my room alone, but I'm grateful to have her with me. Tonight, the dogs are nowhere to be seen and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Portia, still in a strange mood, makes an attempt at cheeriness.

"Things are much more interesting around here since you showed up," she says, injecting gleefullness into her voice. "And all the rumors floating around, my goodness! You'd think we had nothing to do but chat!"

"Do you hear a lot of rumors?" I wonder what people are saying about me, but decide it's better not to ask.

"It's my job to know who and what's happening around here."

In my room, incense burns by the windowsill, wafting lazy swirls of wood and spice. When I drop my bag at the foot of the bed, one of the scrolls from Julian's desk rolls out. Portia spots it and it looks like a question is going to burst out of her mouth, but it falters before it escapes her lips.

I sit on the bed and pat the spot next to me. "Portia, you seem concerned."

"Concerned? Me?" She laughs, trying to deny her consternation even as she sits next to me with a sigh. "Maybe. It's just… the doctor… he can't be the only suspect, right? Just between you and me, I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies. I wasn't working here when it happened. I've only heard rumors of what went on that night. Just… keep your eyes peeled for anything strange, alright?"

If only she knew what I'd already seen.

I debate whether or not I should tell her about the ghost upstairs or my doubts about Julian's guilt, but a smile clears the worry off her face, having spoken what was on her mind. She leans in conspiratorially, voice low.

"Y'know, if you're not too tired yet, I could show you around the palace. There's a lot of interesting things on the grounds. Maybe I could show you some secrets… If you think you can handle them, that is."

She's teasing me. She winks and tilts her head, catlike, waiting for an answer. Any other night I would take her up on it, but tonight…. A throb pulses dully at my temples and I mask a wince with a yawn.

"I'm too tired," I say.

"I get it, you had a long day, and a lot on your mind. Get some rest. Tomorrow milady wants you to join us in town to announce the masquerade. I'll be back at dawn again, so don't sleep in!"

With that, she's gone, leaving me alone. I had hoped to spend more time with my thoughts, but my head….

Somehow I manage to disrobe and slide under the covers. Sleep comes blissfully quickly this time, and I dream about deep, wide rivers.


	6. Chapter 6

The pale light of dawn filters through the windows and draws my eyelids open. I remember the library, going into the city… and then talking to Portia last night. My heart begins to race as I realize that I've forgotten something, something I thought was important? What was it, what was it?

I jump out of bed (was it something in my bag? Something in the library?) and my body reels back, stiff and aching. My knee threatens to buckle and I look down, wondering why it hurts. A huge bruise blossoms purple and blue underneath the skin.

The memory hits me like a sack of flour and I sit down shakily. I used magic to find Julian. I talked to him. I fenced.

_I fenced._

Like a lock sliding into place, the memory becomes _mine_. I wait for the tell-tale headache to wash it away, but it doesn't come. I exhale sharply in disbelief. It becomes a hesitant laugh, and then I'm giggling and whooping, miming the duel all over again (my version could give Julian's a run for his money).

A gentle knock at the door startles me to a stand-still.

"Rose?" Portia calls. "Are you up?"

"Yes," I call, and the door opens. "Good morning, Portia."

"Awake already?" Portia asks, smiling. She sets a tray of pastries and coffee down on the desk, and another servant drops a pile of clothes off on the bed. "Milady sent you some more outfits," she explains. "While you get ready, I have a few more things to take care of. I'll come get you soon!"

After eating, I wash my face and sip a cup of coffee, packing the scroll that fell out last night back into my bag and double-checking Asra's tarot deck is still there. The clothes I wore when I came to the palace haven't been returned, but what Nadia picked out for me is so exquisite that I'm not sure I miss them all that much. I pick out a flowing blouse and skirt and experiment with some magic while I wait for Portia to return.

I've just managed to successfully call up a palmful of water from nothing when she knocks, and together we head downstairs to the carriage.

I decide to finally give myself a quick reading as we travel, so once we're seated I pull out Asra's deck. I tune out the chatter and laughter of the other servants with us and begin shuffling.

A card slips from the deck and I catch it before it falls, turning it over: The Fool. I empty my mind and wait to hear the voice of the Arcana, but there's only silence. Puzzled, I return the card and shuffle again. A card turns sideways, and I pull it out. The Fool, Reversed. And again, no message.

I wrinkle my nose and keep shuffling.

The same thing happens: a card throws itself out of the deck - The Fool.

Again - the Fool, Reversed.

I pull a random card from the middle of the deck: The Fool.

I shuffle once and pull the top card: The Fool, Reversed.

And every time, no message.

I turn to Portia and nudge her arm. "Want to see a card trick?"

"Ooh, yes!" Her eyes are bright with interest.

"The next card I pull," I say, holding up the deck, "will be The Fool."

Portia holds her breath as I shuffle, then lets out a squeal when a card slides out.

"What is it, what is it?" she asks, bouncing in her seat. I flip the card over: The Tower.

Huh.

"Guess I still need practice," I tell Portia. She grins at me.

"Let me know when you get it, maybe you can teach me! Then we could hawk on the street for extra coin."

The carriage hits a pothole and I drop The Tower. It falls face down and I pick it up quickly, flipping it over to dust off the face.

The Fool.

I can't help but laugh.

I need to be back in the square for the announcement at noon, but for now I'm checking on the shop. I'll want supplies for my investigation - reagents, herbs, one of Asra's spell books…

I hop off the carriage in front of my shop and take the steps two at a time up to the door. I press my palm to the door to release the sealing spell and turn the first two locks. Before I can release the third, I fumble and drop the keys in my excitement to be home. When I dip down to retrieve them, I spot a small leather pouch resting on the stoop.

It's rough in make, and heavy with energy. Someone left this for me… picking the knot, I open the pouch and an herbal scent wafts up. It's a magic mixture. Myrrh is strongest, but there are scents of sage and marrow root. A mixture for protection.

I glance to either side of the street, quiet under the cloudy sky. There's no one nearby. I pick up my keys and turn the third lock. Just as I'm pushing the door open, it abruptly swings wide from the other side and I nearly collapse into the last person I expected to see in the shop… again.

Julian.

I catch myself on the door frame and drop the pouch from my nervous fingers, pulse racing. He doesn't look surprised at all. He almost seems… pleased?

I struggle to speak, but he beats me to it, a charming grin spreading across his face.

"Well, hello Rose. Fancy seeing you here. Here, at your own...your own…" He fumbles, suddenly nervous. "Maybe not so surprising. I, ah, was in the neighborhood." He looks me over, slowly turning pinker. "And you look, er, splendid! Marvelous. As always. Not that I notice. I mean, not that I wouldn't notice-"

Seeing him again, when the memories of last night are so fresh (his hand on my knee, his fingers linked with mine, hauling me out of the barrel, spinning me back into the duel) my excitement and desire mount. I try to feel neither of these things and make an attempt at annoyance, narrowing my eyes at him and cutting off his rambling.

"What are you after?"

He finds purchase in my irritation, casting shyness aside.

"Ah," he laments, "Am I not first and foremost a man of science? A physician? A care-taker of the people? I came to check on my patient. I would be remiss as a doctor if I didn't."

My heart leaps at the thought of him really being here for me. It may be the way he couches his admission with an affected manner, but I don't quite buy it, as much as I want to believe it.

"Why are you _really_ here? It can't have just been for me."

He looks away, embarrassed that I caught him so quickly. "Persistent, aren't you?" I stare him down as he fidgets with his collar. "I wasn't telling you the whole truth," he admits. "I came looking for answers. I didn't find any. But I, uh, was really hoping to see you as well, Rose."

Voices echo down the alleyway and I force Julian inside the shop, slamming the door against anyone who might see him.

I whirl back around, frustration that he lied fueling confusion about my frustration that he lied - and on top of all of that, I'm ready to lecture him (running around in broad daylight? In _this_ city?) but my voice catches. He's kneeling in front of me, looking up at me with eager eyes. I forget what I was so mad about.

"May I…?"

I nod, and he carefully lifts my left leg and places my foot on his thigh. His gloved fingers track slowly up my calf, and I lean back against the door and close my eyes. It feels good. His hands slip underneath the hem of my skirt and push up the fabric, one hand lingering on top of my thigh as the other slides to the side of my knee.

My blood feels like it's turned to flames and it takes everything I have to keep breathing normally. He inspects the bruise, apparently oblivious to the effect he's having on me.

Julian brushes a thumb gently over the bruise and looks up at me. I realize that we're picking up where we left off last night before the guards showed up for the raid.

"Does it hurt?" he asks. I'm not capable of feeling much other than desire - a cow could fall on me and I wouldn't notice.

I don't trust myself to speak, so I shake my head. He tuts, teasing me now by inching his hand further up my thigh.

"Suddenly shy?"

I am, even though I would never admit it. I can't remember the last time I'd been so attracted to someone, wanted them so desperately. I feel my control slip further with each inch Julian's hand moves. I scramble to cover, to say something.

"Are you always so hands-on with your patients, doctor?" I almost don't recognize the breathless need in my own voice. I don't know why I'm not stopping him. I don't know why I called him doctor. I seem to have lost all normal function altogether.

His delight in my reaction is undisguised and he looks at me with a lascivious grin. "Why? Do you like it?"

My neck flushes in answer as Julian releases my leg (I'm both relieved and disappointed) and stands, towering over me. He reaches for my waist and my stomach lurches as he dips me, his free hand cradling my cheek. "If so, I'd be more than happy to show you my bedside manner."

_Always take advantage of an opening_, I remind myself.

I throw an arm around his neck, drawing us closer so I can purr into his ear: "Would that be before or after a thorough full-body examination?"

He's so flustered, that for a moment he doesn't know how to respond. I grin.

"Should I make an appointment?" I ask as Julian leans back, eyes dark with desire and he's about to say something -

When the door slams open, accompanied by a cheerful, "Rose! Are you in here?"

Portia steps in, and in the moment it takes her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the shop, Julian and I spring apart, blushing more furiously now than when we were teasing and touching each other, moments ago.

Julian stares at Portia, shock taking over his features. Her eyes now adjusted, Portia freezes as her gaze zeroes in on Julian. Despite coming here to find me, she pays me no attention. All of her focus, the suspended disbelief in her wide eyes, is on the man beside me. And when she speaks, the word that escapes her sounds different, an unused voice from the depths of her heart.

"Ilya?" Portia murmurs. I back into the wall as she throws herself at Julian. "Ilya, is it really you?" Her shaking hands come to either side of his face. His eye starts to shine.

"It's me."

"You - you - you bastard! What are you doing here?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!" Her fingers curl, tugging at his ears and drawing a shameful wince.

"You've grown up strong, Pasha. I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it…"

"Oh, I'll show you sorry! You unbelievable… Rose!" Remembering suddenly that I'm there, she releases Julian's ear and seizes his collar, tugging him through the door. "I'll… I'll catch up with you later."

Without further ado, Portia hauls the floundering doctor down a nearby alley, leaving me alone.

Well, at least Portia's concern last night makes sense, now.

I replay my interaction with Julian as I head straight for the backroom, floating on a cloud of giddy happiness. He wanted to see me again.

Mephisto flies up to the window and I let him in, and he regales me with stories of his adventures with the raven last night as I collect the magical components I need for the investigation. The two birds dipped their beaks into a fair bit of mischief throughout the city after the tavern raid.

He helps me search through Asra's possessions, but the book is nowhere to be found. Did Asra take it with him when he left?

We search through cupboards, shelves, under the chairs, in the pile of cushions - but we can't find it. Before I know it, the sun is high in the sky. A distant clock tolls the hour, shocking me to my feet. Fuck! I can't be late for the announcement.

Biting my lip in vexation, I abandon my search and close up shop. I glance behind me one last time before closing the door, and my eye lands on a rose lying on the counter. A folded piece of paper lies underneath.

I must have missed it with all the excitement of Julian being around, and curiosity overwhelms worry as I dash back in to grab the rose and paper before locking the door and walking quickly toward the city square. Mephisto perches on my shoulder (his favorite place to take a nap).

We make it in good time. The square is densely packed, smaller folks and latecomers circling the perimeter for a better view. The tantalizing scents of fresh bread and roasted meat waft from all directions, mingling with the delicate scents from the flower stalls nearby.

Portia stands in the center of it all on the edge of a majestic fountain.

"Ahem! Hear ye, hear ye!" Her voice carries across the square. Passersby pause their conversations, turning to look up at her. Mephisto blinks awake, looking around curiously. "This is an announcement from your Countess Nadia! On the anniversary of the passing of your beloved Count Lucio, the Countess will open the Palace gates. That's right, folks! All are invited not to mourn, but to celebrate the spirit of the dearly departed Count!"

A ripple of loud excitement passes through the crowd. At its edge, I pick up a familiar scent. Myrrh. Mephisto nibbles my ear and directs me to the left. The scent grows stronger, and I follow it along the edge of the crowd.

_The leather pouch_, I think, _it smells the same_.

And then I come upon a figure, hulking in size. Their eyes are shadowed under a hood and heavy brow. Though the excitement in the square is growing, the figure looks more like a harbinger of despair.

"It'll be a Masquerade like no other before!" Portia shouts, throwing her arms in the air. "Spread the word, tell your friends! You won't wanna miss this!"

As the crowd erupts, the massive stranger moves down a side street, escaping with the scent of myrrh. The stranger's lumbering pace is easy to match. How do I know him? He told me something important, I think…

I catch up halfway down the street. "Hey, where are you going?"

The figure stops and turns slightly as if they dread the sight of me. "Blindly to the slaughter. Just like the rest of you."

"What do you mean? Please, speak plainly."

"It doesn't matter what I say. My words won't last. They never do." With a suffering look, the stranger shuffles away, chains rattling as he disappears into the misty shadows of the afternoon alley. It seems pointless to follow - I doubt I'd get anything more than vague, ominous statements out of him.

My thoughts race. If they left the protection spell at the shop… Did Asra send them?

I head back toward the servants' wagon, where Portia is tossing flower petals and rice onto the dancing cityfolk. Mephisto takes flight, trying to catch the rice in midair.

Portia spots me and grins.

"Rose, there you are! Would you look at this crowd?" She leans down, lowering her voice. "No incidents back at the shop, I hope? Nothing out of the ordinary?" Her smile has a shade of desperation as she bats her eyes pleadingly.

At this point I can honestly say that my "ordinary" has turned so upside down that what happened at my shop earlier today could absolutely qualify as normal and I wouldn't even feel like it was a lie.

But before I can open my mouth to answer, we're jolted as the wagon lurches to life. Wild laughter follows us down streets ringing with news of the Masquerade. Together we throw rice and flower petals over the exuberant Vesuvians and we ride through the city.

Once we've left the crowds behind, we drop with a sigh onto our seats. After a moment, Portia turns to me. "You're going to be meeting with the courtiers when we reach the palace. Wanna know who they are first?"

With everything that's happened today, I'd almost forgotten. "Oh! Yes, that would be really helpful."

"Well, there's Procurator Volta, Praetor Vlastomil, Pontifex Vulgora, Quaestor Valdemar, and Consul Valerius." She ticks their names off rapidly on her fingers. She makes a politic attempt at describing them: "Volta has these… these _eyes_… and Vulgora, well, is really passionate. Valdemar is, um… Valdemar, they… wear white."

I must look hopelessly lost, because she gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Really, Valerius is the most important. Milady minds him more than the rest. The others are a bit eccentric, but I'm sure they'll be kind to you."

"Thanks, Porita." I grab her hand and squeeze it, trying to communicate how much I appreciate her, and at the same time, that I won't tell anyone about what happened at my shop today (for her sake, and mine). She smiles tightly in response, holding her emotions back just underneath the surface of her businesslike attitude.

Another servant grabs her attention ("Can I swap duties with someone else? Peacocks scare me.") and with a thrill that sets my whole body tingling I remember the rose and the note.

I pull them carefully from my bag, bringing the flower up to my nose. Its scent is fresh, delicate. I open the folded piece of paper next and immediately recognize the scrawl.

_A rose for a Rose,_ Julian had written.

_The allure of the rose fades when I but imagine _

_the beauty of thy face _

_and each pricking thorn dulls _

_when compared to thy wit. _

_I envy the bees that land so freely _

_on each blossom, _

_and wish that my lips could land so _

_on the delicate petals of thine._

_J_

I can barely contain the squeal that threatens to burst forth as I read and re-read the poem. It takes no effort to feel Julian's emotions drifting from the page, soft as a sigh. I restrain myself from connecting to them even as they pulse under my fingertips. I have a meeting with the courtiers to get through first.

When we return to the palace, Portia escorts me to a wing that smells strongly of a half a dozen perfumes. I know we've reached the parlor door by the music and cackling laughter inside.

"Go on, Rose. These people can't wait to meet you."

Her words ground me. People. That's all they are.

The room is hazy, swimming with elegant plumes of smoke. Oddly dressed figures lay about on pillowy couches. The Countess sits behind a gleaming pipe organ, paying no mind to the idle chit-chat around her. But she looks up when I enter, her elegant fingers striking a victorious chord.

"Welcome, Rose." She turns the pages of her music, nodding to me with an encouraging smile. "Portia, please introduce our honored guest."

Portia clears her throat, and the idle chatter stills. "Announcing Rose, friend of the Palace and apprentice to Asra the magician."

I try to put faces to the list of names as the courtiers rise from their comfortable seats.

Portia's descriptions make sense, now.

"You're Rose? Oh, oh, you're so cute!" Volta cries. Before she can continue, Vlastomil interrupts by exclaiming, "What a delightful surprise, we were all just talking about you!" But then he's pushed aside as Vulgora yells, "Sit! No, not with them, with _me_, Rose!"

Their welcoming gestures take me by surprise. I hadn't expected such enthusiasm. Eager, manicured hands draw me down onto the couch and into the fold of conversation. Nadia watches from where she plays the pipe organ, drawing contemplative tones.

"Tell me Rose," she says, "how was the announcement received?"

I don't even get a chance to open my mouth.

"One can only imagine!" interjects Vlastomil. "Even we, the favorites of the Countess, had no idea!"

Volta agrees. "Such a beautiful surprise from our dearest Countess! A Masquerade!"

"Hah!" Vulgora laughs. "And we don't even have to do the work!"

"How lucky Rose would have to be," Nadia comments dryly, "to get a word in with you all. Goodness."

"Oh my worm - ahem, I mean, my word - how lucky she already is!" This, from Vlastomil again. "To be taken in by the Countess, an unknown apprentice."

Nadia arches an eyebrow at me and I bite back a laugh.

"Risky, risky." Valdemar's voice, soft and chilly and completely devoid of enthusiasm, makes me flinch. They stare at me unblinkingly, head tilted to the side. "So very unlike our thoughtful and meticulous Countess." They lean close, dropping their voice. "Have you, perhaps, found a particular drawing of a brain -"

"Perhaps," intones Valerius imperiously, swirling his wine glass, "the Countess might inform her adoring court how exactly she found herself at the witch's door that night." He rounds the couch, looking down his nose at me. He spreads his arms, turning to address the entire room. "Or perhaps the witch might tell us herself."

I bristle. I hate the way people say that word, like it's a curse.

"Perhaps," I venture, "don't call me that."

Volta, Vlastomil, and Vulgora round on Valerius, their mouths agape in angry gasps. I can't imagine they feel so strongly about it on my behalf, but rather adore being part of the drama. Valdemar is still staring at me.

"Witch?" asks Valerius, narrowing his eyes at me. "Of course, I misspoke. You are but an _apprentice_." He narrows his eyes at me, and anger roils like a maelstrom within me.

Nadia's sonorous voice rises over the whispers, commanding attention.

"If you all wanted so badly to know how that night transpired, you might have simply asked. My headaches had grown worse, and I was having some trouble sleeping -"

"As you have been for some time, Countess!" Volta interrupts.

"Yes, Procurator. On that night I woke haunted by the spectre of a dream, no escape for my mind. Indeed, I was seeking someone, anyone who may be of help to me. It was I who was lucky to have come across the one I needed so soon. A benevolent universe brought us together, did it not, Rose?" Her glimmering red gaze falls fondly on me, and the courtiers shift, studying me with new intensity.

The moment is broken by an airy sigh as Valerius peers at me over his wine glass. A benevolent universe? With respect, Countess, your mind may have been occupied of late. You must remember that we, your adoring court, are ever at your side!"

He throws his arms wide with a flourish so overdramatic that it reminds me of Julian and I fight to beat back the flush that comes with the memory of our encounter earlier today - but I didn't need to worry. I'm immediately cooled off as the contents of his wine glass spills out and splashes across the front of my clothes.

A collective gasp sweeps through the room as the livid liquid seeps through my clothes to my skin.

Nadia rises from the organ, her expression murderous. Valerius regards me smugly.

"How clumsy of me. Surely you know some hocus or pocus to remedy this dilemma?"

"Enough, Valerius," Nadia commands. "You have exhausted my patience for today. All of you, out."

Tiptoeing around my splattered form, the courtiers file sheepishly out the door. I remain with Nadia, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

"I am sorry, Rose. We must rid you of these ruined clothes, of course. Portia will escort you to the bath." She sighs. "Such pettiness. I hadn't anticipated quite this reaction."

"I'll hold my judgement until our second meeting," I promise. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Nadia."

"You as well, Rose." The cooing tones of the organ echo down the hall as Portia leads me to the bath in the guest wing.

I sink into the steaming bath, my hair floating to the surface as I lay at the bottom of the tub. It's easier to think here, where the noise of the world is dampened underneath the blanket of water.

I couldn't resist and poured rose oil into the water, so when I rise up for air the scent surrounds me. Julian's note is in the pocket of my skirt and I can feel his energy radiating from where I sit, head propped in my hand.

I close my eyes and connect my magic with the note.

Unrestrained desire sets my skin blazing and I can picture him clearly, pacing back and forth behind a desk littered with inked papers, the only light from the flickering flame of a candle. He runs a hand through his wild hair, muttering phrases to the darkness.

"The very sun herself," he's saying, "the whole world turns to face her for the light she gives." Abruptly he turns on his heel and drops to his knees. "I am not afraid to draw near, for she has already set me ablaze with a look! Would that I could bask in her warmth in every moment!" He pauses, then sighs, a dreamy smile drifting across his face. "And yet also, the very moon. No matter the depth of the velvet darkness around her, she would not sink into it. Nor can I, so long as I see her."

The vision fades.

When I eventually get out of the bath, I carry the scent of roses with me back to my room.

A parcel is waiting for me by the window. There is a tightly spiraled note on top, addressed to me from Nadia.

_A gift for my dear guest, this emerald which seemed to call your name. Wear it in good health._

The chain slips through my fingers as I hold the jewel, and in a gradual wave I recognize its energy. It's Asra's magic, radiating from the gem.

Exhaustion pulses at my temples, but I could use this to find Asra again: I have so many questions… As I always seem to.

I wander through the empty halls and out onto the veranda. Below, I see the gardens, shady and lush. I know the way, now. Silently, I descend to the garden path, shrouded in a warm breeze.

Faust joins me as I take a seat on the edge of the fountain pool. She flicks her tongue over the emerald before settling around my arm. I take a deep breath and drop it into the pool. Light catches every glimmering, green facet as it sinks to the bottom. The water starts to change, colors blooming, shapes unfolding - just like they did last night. It feels easier this time, whether from a stronger connection or familiarity with the magic, I'm not sure.

Asra's image coalesces in the pool. He's kneeling by a pool of water and though I don't surprise him this time, he still smiles when he sees me.

"I had a feeling you'd want to talk to me," he says.

"Yes. Very much so."

Faust dips her tail into the water, sending ripples across Asra's image.

"Faust!" he exclaims. "You're looking lively." She flicks her tongue in response. "I think it's time I open up to you."

I raise an eyebrow. "I was actually hoping you might say that. I have a lot of questions."

Asra looks down, worried for a moment. "I imagine you do." He sighs, resolute. "So, Rose. What's on your mind? Ask me whatever you like. All that I ask in return is that you start being more honest with me, too."

Have I not been?

His gentle gaze washes over me, bringing me calm despite the burning questions that threaten to scorch my tongue the longer they stay in my mouth.

"Who is Julian to you?" I've seen the depth of emotion that crosses over Julian's face when he speaks of Asra, and I can't help but be curious (and jealous, even if I try to convince myself I'm not).

"Julian? Ah, yes, he goes by that name, too. I knew him by another. He was… a friend, once. Then more. And then something else… Who is Julian to me… Who is he to anyone? Whoever he needs to be, to get what he wants. To think he would come for me, after all that… let's leave it at this. He's a hack physician with a lot to learn. Until he does, nothing good will come of him." His answer stirs a complicated concoction of feelings that makes my stomach churn.

Asra pins me with a stare. "Who is he to you?"

_Nothing,_ I think. _Everything. _

"A piece of the puzzle."

Asra's brow furrows, then with a deep sigh and a shake of his head, he clears the heavy mood and smiles. "Is there, perhaps, something else on your mind?" His eyes search mine with wordless depth.

I shift on the seat and a piece of paper crinkles in my pocket.

Julian's note.

I smile at Asra and shake my head. "It's getting late."

"Is it? Time is strange here." He looks out for a moment at the stars overhead, a foreign mirror of the stars above me. "Go rest, Rose. I'll see you again soon. I know you'll find me." Asra reaches forward, his touch scattering the image. Then he's gone.

Faust looks disappointed, curled on the edge of the pool.

I rise to my feet, stretch, and yawn.

"Come on, Faust. I know." I scratch her chin and she closes her eyes, happy for a moment. "We'll see him again soon."

With one last longing look, she slides up my arm to rest on my shoulders. Her presence soothes the strange ache in my chest. Shaking my head, I gather my cloak and head back inside the palace.


	7. Chapter 7

When I wake up, energy sparks through me immediately. Despite everything that's happened over the past few days, despite the questions that drift just beneath the surface of my mind, despite increasingly feeling like I know more and know less about myself than I ever had - I feel hopeful. I feel excited.

I'm going to find out what really happened the night of Lucio's murder.

After slipping on another exquisite outfit (a soft, cotton skirt and a thin-strapped blouse, courtesy of Nadia's excellent taste), I head for the library. Portia nearly runs into me in the hallway as I round a corner.

"The underwater room will be in the _other_ wing!" she calls over her shoulder. I step around her nimbly as she whips her head back around, barely avoiding a collision with the tray in her hands. "Good morning, Rose!" She doesn't seem to be perturbed by our near catastrophe. "You're up earlier and earlier."

"Questions are popping up faster than I can answer them." I lift the heavy coffee pot from the tray and help her carry it to my room. "Is this all for me?"

"It sure is. Milady holds hospitality to the highest of standards."

I hold the door open for her and follow her back into my room. She's just set the tray down when I clear my throat.

"So, Julian is your brother?"

The naked shock on Portia's face is all I need to see to know my hunch was correct. Portia closes the door before answering.

"Yes," she admits, "I'm sorry about that scene in your shop. I was just… surprised to see him there."

I smile wryly. "So was I."

"He's got a real flair for the dramatic. I'm glad to see that hasn't changed."

"It must run in the family."

"Me? Dramatic? Why, Rose! How dare you!" She laughs. "I learned from the best. Ilya taught me everything I know." She fixes me suddenly with a hard stare, eyes narrowed. "I didn't know you two knew each other. Did that happen _before_ or _after_ milady hired you?"

I tell her the truth. "I met Julian the night Nadia visited my shop. He came in just after she left." I bite back a smile at the memory and hide it behind my cup of coffee. "He tried to scare me. It didn't really work."

Portia scoffs. "That sure sounds like my brother. Why didn't you tell milady?"

I had been wondering that, myself. It seemed that at every moment, the mixture of emotions I feel when I think of Julian becomes more complex, harder to untangle and decipher. Why didn't I tell Nadia? Or call the guards that first night? Or the next one? How is it possible that my connection to him - physical, magical - is so strong already? Why does he seek me out?

Portia's tone, though interrogative, belies a sisterly concern. I feel like I can tell her anything. And I want to tell her.

"I didn't know enough yet," I say, and that's the simplest that I can sum up my maelstrom of feelings. "I didn't want to condemn a man on incomplete information. I still don't. If it's my word that knots the hangman's noose…" I push away the image of Julian swinging from the platform. "How can I send a man to death before I've investigated his innocence?"

"You two seemed… very familiar with each other. Did you know he snuck onto the palace grounds last night?"

I groan. How foolish can that man get?

Portia continues. "I found him wandering the maze, lost as a lamb." Despite her best efforts, the corners of her mouth perk up into a grin. "He was raving about how he was going to -" and here she throws her arms around and drops her voice in a _very_ well-done Julian impression "- climb up onto your balcony to serenade you." She rolls her eyes. "And then said he wouldn't in case it got you into trouble. _And then_ he concocted a plan to rescue you, because the Countess found out that you were helping him and threw you mercilessly into the dungeons."

I can't help but laugh, and Portia joins me, the two of us dissolving into giggles like school girls.

"You're joking," I protest, but she shakes her head.

"It's a miracle I got him out. I don't even know how he got in!" She catches herself, and glares at me again, not yet finished with her interrogation. "What did you do to him to make him act like this? Cast a spell? Made him drink some kind of potion?"

My cheeks burn under her scrutiny. I take a sip of coffee and think back through anything outstanding that I did to him.

"I threw a bottle at his head."

At the look on Portia's face I scramble to explain what happened the night he broke in. Then I explain in broad strokes our second meeting at the Rowdy Raven, and then our third yesterday morning. With each recounting, her eyes grow wider and wider until she's shaking her head in disbelief.

"Of course he'd go crazy for you!" she says, her tone lightening back into friendliness. "He needs someone like you."

"Someone who can beat him up?" I ask sarcastically. "Got any bottles around?"

"He can't get into any trouble if you're already making it, can he?" she shoots back, and we laugh together.

We quiet down after a few moments and sit comfortably in silence.

"I'm serious, Portia." I turn to her, taking one of her hands in mine. "There's a piece missing from the story. Something is… _off_… about the courtiers, about what everyone says happened that night." I look down, uncomfortable with what I'm about to admit. "I'm going to need your help to prove he's innocent. This is turning out to be more complex than I think both Nadia and myself thought it would be."

I'd barely finished my sentence when Portia pulls me into a powerful hug.

"Of course I'll help, Rose! Someone needs to look out for my idiot brother, and I can't think of two better people than you and me to do it. And Mazelinka."

"Who's Mazelinka?"

"She pretty much raised us. Ilya said he's been staying with her." She sighs and releases me, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "She didn't tell me that they came to Vesuvia. They thought they couldn't trust me."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Did they say that to you?" I swear, if that idiot upset his sister even more than he already has… and I don't know Mazelinka, but I'm thinking up some choice words for her when Portia shakes her head.

"No, they didn't. But why else wouldn't they tell me as soon as they docked?"

"Well," I say slowly. "Julian is a wanted man. And if Mazelinka came to the palace, that might place you under suspicion. And then all three of you would get in trouble."

Portia blushes. "Rose, you're so right. I can't believe I would think that. Mazelinka is probably waiting until it wouldn't be so strange for her to visit me. And I'm supposed to be giving you a pep talk!" She punches my arm lightly. "You're taking care of everyone." She smiles despite her sniffles. "I don't really know what mess Ilya's gotten himself into, but if he has you in his corner, I get the feeling that everything will work out alright in the end. Besides, I can't pass up a good mystery."

"Guess we have an excuse to sneak around the palace now, right?" I grin. "Countess' orders."

Portia gasps with delight, and then gasps in alarm.

"Oh, no! It's so late! I'd better get back to work." She jumps up and heads for the door, and I follow her, feeling lighter knowing that I'm not doing this alone. Portia pauses before opening the door.

"I'm really glad we got this chance to talk. I knew we'd be friends eventually."

"More than friends," I correct her. "Detectives."

I need to find Mazelinka.

If she's so close to Julian and Portia, she's someone we need on our side.

To avoid being followed, I decide to take another route into town by way of the gardens. Portia had directed me to look for an overgrown path behind the third minotaur statue next to the rose bushes.…

It takes Mephisto's help to find, and as I wander through the ancient foliage of the forest growing wild on the edges of the palace grounds, the sky grows dark above me. Darker than it should be in the early afternoon.

Dread festers in the pit of my stomach as I walk further into the deepening gloom. Maybe I took the wrong path?

I glance back and see the palace's soaring spires emerge from the top of the trees, and keep going. I'm afraid to stop moving, like something is going to grab me the moment I stop. It feels like I've been walking for hours when thick foliage opens up to rolling fields and a sharp wind cuts through the damp, heavy air of the forest. Golden light filters through the clouds, but it does nothing to ease the fear in the pit of my stomach. Especially when my eyes land on a brook serpentining through the grass a few feet away from me. It takes me a few breathless seconds to register the color.

Red. There's no mistaking it.

Crimson stains the slow-moving stream. The water burbles and splash the banks, coloring the ground a shade that looks too much like blood.

I scramble away from the shore and take a deep breath to calm my pounding heart. With trepidation, I follow the flow upstream with my eyes. The water seeps from the stonework of a forgotten corner of the palace.

It would be easy to miss. The brook is small, tucked away on a side of the palace I imagine isn't patrolled often. I turn back to the garden in horror, and realize why the forest was so dark, the air so putrid: the trees are being poisoned, rotting and decaying. Their trunks are molding, their leaves blackened.

_Mephisto, do you know what this is?_ I ask, unable to rip my eyes away from the red stream.

_No, never seen._ He hops side to side on my shoulder, clearly distressed. _Looks bad. Looks sick._

Forgetting completely about my intention to track Julian down, I swallow hard and resolve to follow the stream to its end.

The sun dips lower in the sky, and vast fields give way to rocky cliffside. The stream transitions from flowing in the ground to running down a lemonstone aqueduct, one of many flowing towards the city to provide water to its denizens. From this high, balanced on the first stone of the unconventional path before me, I can see all of Vesuvia. Sprawling, chaotic, and vibrant. Swirls of smoke leave chimneys to dance in the air, twining together like lovers. Overhead, a raven circles me, swooping lower and lower as I walk along the bridge.

I know this raven - we've met twice now. He lands with a thud on my other shoulder, tilting its head at me.

"Hello again," I say, reaching over to stroke its head gently. The raven caws once, loudly in my ear, and nibbles on a piece of my hair. Its feathers are ruffled as if it was on high alert, and it swings its head constantly back and forth, eyes darting. It and Mephisto caw at each other cacophonously in greeting.

I reach out with a tendril of magic to ask the raven if it knows where Julian is, but a chorus of drunken voices slide over the rooftops and startles the raven into flight.

Mephisto cocks her head, confused, and watches it fly away, then follows. I rub gently at the claw marks the raven left on my shoulder and from behind me, I hear a tentative footstep. And then, "Rose?"

I whip my head around in time to see a tall figure emerge from the shadows and step into the dim light of a city lantern hanging overhead. Julian's shocked expression, half cast in shadow, meets my look of tempered surprise.

I hadn't expected to run into him again so quickly.

"Hi, Julian." My lips turn up into a shy smile.

It wasn't until this moment, seeing him, that I realize just how badly I needed to see him - for the investigation, and for myself. The words from his poem float in my mind and I blush, thankful for the darkness around us to hide it.

He isn't wearing his coat this time, and I take in his slim figure. He's holding his mask in one of his hands, the eyes glittering as the water in the aqueduct refracts the moonlight.

"Out for a walk, were you?" He stands next to me, looking at the water pensively.

I nod once, glancing up at him. I take the time to really look at him - so far we've been so caught up in something (running from guards, teasing each other) that I haven't gotten an opportunity like this.

He's all lean limbs and sharp angles, the line of his nose making a striking profile. Moonlight and lanternlight mingle in the waves of his auburn hair. Just underneath his jacket I can make out his muscles, tense even as he stands. I lose myself for a moment in the memory of running my hands along his arms as my eyes drift back up, lingering on his neck.

Abruptly I realize that I haven't answered Julian's question. I raise my eyes, berating myself for staring and they meet Julian's. My cheeks blaze - he caught me. He turns red under my gaze, which I know is a far cry from an innocent glance.

Then again, he's looking at me with just as much intensity.

"Yes," I manage to say, turning towards him fully. "I was hoping I would see you again." I can see the color creep up his neck. "I've been meaning to give something to you."

"Is that so?" Joviality barely masks the husky desire in his voice. "Whatever for?"

My heart pounds so loud I'm sure he can hear it.

"It was something I meant to give you the last time we met." That's true - I had. I close the distance between us and run my hands up his chest. He shivers and closes his eye. It takes all of my height and some extra as I stand on my tip toes, but I'm able to brush my lips over his. His eye shoots open in shock, and I vaguely hear the clatter of his mask falling to the ground, then a splash as it falls into the water.

Then his eyelid lowers to a lusty gaze as he gently pulls my hips towards him and dips his head. I meet him halfway, pressing our lips and bodies together. For a moment he freezes, then presses his fingertips into my hips, splaying his long fingers so that they just graze my ass.

With that, a simple kiss isn't enough.

I reach up to run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and he sighs. I take advantage of his open mouth and slide my tongue against his. His sigh turns into a moan and he presses my body hard against him. I can feel something hard against my waist and I don't think it's his knife.

Just as I feel him shift to take control, I pull back, forcing us apart by pulling gently on the hair I'd tangled my fingers in. He stares down at me, flushed and breathing hard.

"How was that, honeybee?" I whisper against his lips.

He groans. "Oh, what would you think of me if I dared to hope for another taste?"

I release his hair to run my fingers down his neck, my other hand still resting on his chest. He shudders, but doesn't move an inch.

"Would a bee ask that of the flower? Or does he simply land on the flower whose petals are already open to him?"

Julian laughs nervously. "Ah, yes, the poem. I was thinking of you, and… I hope it wasn't too much. If it was, just, say the word, I won't do it again."

Does he really think I didn't like it?

I hum, amused, and reach up to caress his cheek. He leans into the touch.

"I liked it," I tell him.

"I understand, I won't even pick up a quill -" he cuts himself off. "What?"

"I'd be disappointed if you _didn't_ write me another one." I run my hand through his hair, relishing his dumbstruck expression as the realization slowly dawns that I did, in fact, mean what I said. "I've been thinking about it all day."

Silently, Mephisto glides to a landing on my shoulder. Julian leaps back with a yell and then pulls out his knife.

"Back, foul beast!" he cries, imitating the fencing stance with a fierce scowl on his face.

I do my best, but I crack and start laughing.

"Julian, this is my familiar," I manage to get out. "Mephisto."

Mephisto squawks once, then flies over to Julian's shoulder.

"He looked bigger, with the shadows." Julian mumbles, scratching Mephisto's head with one finger." He glares at me, indignant. "It wasn't that funny."

At this point I'm sitting down, having been unable to keep myself upright while laughing. The laughter slows down to deep breaths of air and I wipe tears from my eyes. "It was, I'm sorry!"

Julian cracks a smile, chuckling himself.

"Alright, maybe it was. I can't blame you." He leans down, offering me his hand. "Milady?"

I grasp it and he pulls me up. He overestimates his strength so I slam into his chest (we're beginning to make a habit out of this). He seems to have done this on purpose, however, as he wraps his arms around me in a warm embrace. "Besides," he says quietly over the top of my head, "I can't be mad at you. You're adorable when you laugh."

Mephisto squawks again from Julian's shoulder, insistently this time.

_Alright, what?_ I ask, annoyed as his impertinent tone.

_Guards coming!_

As if on cue, the raven dives over our heads, flapping its wings in a frenzy, cawing frantically as it circles above us.

Julian jolts to life immediately, excitement glittering in his eye.

"Guards afoot, Rose! Look lively, we'd best make tracks."

Mephisto takes flight at the same moment Julian takes my hand in his. We break into a run, following a course through winding alleys that Julian navigates with familiarity. From above, Mephisto keeps watch over the guards movements as they patrol. We're careening down a narrow street when Mephisto warns, _Both directions!_

They're coming at us from both ends of the street, with no alleyways to duck into. Just up ahead, I see an iron gate. We're moving so fast I almost miss where it's nestled between two tall buildings, a rusted padlock making an easy entry impossible. But impossible seems to be what both of us handle best.

I tug on Julian's hand and pull him towards the gate. He catches on quickly and gives me a boost over the top, landing unceremoniously while he drops nimbly to his feet. We slip into the cover of overgrowth just in time to hear the guards marching, greeting each other as they pass on the street.. I hold my breath for a few extra moments until complete silence falls around us.

It feels like we've been transported to another realm. This garden must have been abandoned for years before we stumbled into it. Left to fend for themselves, the plants run wild. They've grown over the statues and columns, infiltrated the fountains and wound around each other. We step over roots that have grown through the cobblestone, settling by a dilapidated fountain.

"Look at this place! Ha, that was some quick thinking, Rose." He waggles an eyebrow at me. "Looks like you have a knack for discovering hidden beauty." Sobering, he looks around. "I wonder how many places in the city have fallen into neglect like this."

I'm still trying to catch my breath. Apparently unable to sit still, Julian stands and strides towards one of the grotesque statues. I stare after him, unable to fathom what he's up to now.

"Ah, and look at this brute. Hello, handsome." He loops an arm around the statue and swings to face me, delight in his eyes. "Dangerous looking creature, isn't it?"

Blame the adrenaline, exhaustion, or blood loss; blame the attraction I feel towards him, our constant flirtation, the memory of his muscle flexing under my hand; blame feeling like I've known him for years, his transparent desire for me, his sweet concern for my well-being and how much all of this combined makes life more exciting to live.

Blame it all, because I say, "I like a little danger."

And I do. I like the adventure, being on the run, relying on my wits and magic to evade capture. I like doing it with my hand in his.

I walk over to the stone statue, staring up into its face. It almost seems to be regarding me.

"Oh?" he replies. "I shouldn't be surprised anymore - you've already shown me some of your hidden depths." He turns to me fully. "But tell me. Do you really mean that? You're certainly brave, it's true. But do you know what you're getting into?"

There's another layer to Julian's question. Even though I've already made my decision (though the exact moment I made it, I have no idea), I don't want to pressure him into moving into a relationship faster than he's ready for. So I redirect.

"Isn't the not knowing what makes it exciting?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that's the _most_ exciting thing about it." His eye shifts. "Ah, hold on, Rose."

He reaches slowly forward and plucks a flower from my shoulder, where it landed after falling from one of the luminous trees above. It glows a bright, vivid blue in the dark, its star-shaped petals curling closed at Ilya's touch. He offers the flower to me, a quirk in his lips as he slowly twirls the flower in his fingers. I reach out to take it, but he stops me, pulling back slightly with a shake of his head.

"Ah ah ah, careful. You're not the only dangerous flower. There's poison in these petals." I stare down at the fragile, unfamiliar flower.

"What is it?"

"Deadly Starstrand. A single drop of poison distilled from this flower could kill a babe in its crib. It's killed tyrants and kings - it could topple mighty empires in someone's careless hand." He leans towards me again, offering the flower and gazing eagerly into my eyes. "Do you still want it?"

Again, I know that there's another layer to what he's saying.

I pluck the flower out of his hand, lifting it to my nose to smell. There's something acrid to it, an underlying note of iron and sickness that stings the inside of my nose. I lower the flower and blink against the tears the scent brought to my eyes.

"You said the poison has to be distilled," I muse. "Doesn't that make it harmless to touch?"

He shrugs. "Well, I wouldn't eat it if I were you. But you're right. It probably won't kill you like this."

Julian takes the flower from my hand and holds my hair back, tucking the flower behind my ear. His hand lingers for a moment before dropping to my shoulder. He shys into himself a little, as though suddenly nervous. As though a gesture purely affectionate isn't something he's comfortable with.

"It sounds like you're not afraid of danger, either," I comment. He latches onto the conversation.

"Afraid of danger? Why, Rose, I live for it. Positively enchanted by danger, I am. I breathe danger, eat it for breakfast. I have a drink with danger every night at the Rowdy Raven!"

That's when I notice the bright bloom of blood on his thigh, seeping through the fabric of his pants.

"Julian, you're hurt!" I move to drop to my knees to get a better look at the wound, but Julian grabs my arms and pulls me upright. He smiles tiredly.

"Just a scratch, really, from going over the fence. Nothing to worry about."

My eyes are drawn to the magic mark beginning to glow under the skin of his throat. It's design is familiar, something I've seen before but I don't know where. He catches me staring and sits back, his expression falls into shadow. He rests his forehead in his hand, staring at the blood on his leg.

"Do you recognize Asra's handiwork?" he asks bitterly. "This was his parting gift to me - a curse. I can heal bodily wounds, as you can see, by experiencing them for myself. And when I'm injured, I heal quickly."

I can't help but feel the mark on his skin with my fingers, tracing the pattern.

"Rose-" he starts, but I cut him off. Mephisto is trying to reach me.

"Hold on," I say, and Mephisto shows me the view of the street. All clear. "The guards are gone." I sigh, not wanting to leave, but knowing that staying in the open while guards are patrolling could be dangerous. "Can you walk?"

"No need to worry about me. I'll be fine."

I'm not completely sure I believe him, but let him give me a boost back over the gate. When he drops next to me, his injured leg crumples and I slip my arm around his waist for support. He opens his mouth to protest but the look I give him silences him, so he throws his arm around my shoulders, and together we walk down the street.

I maintain my link with Mephisto as he soars overhead, flying in looping patterns with the raven. I do my best to tune out their chatter, which currently consists mostly of where to find the best worms.

Julian guides us through a maze of alleyways and side streets, heading north. I notice he can walk just fine on his own, but he doesn't remove his arm from around my shoulders so I don't say anything about it.

"Have you been in this part of the city before, Rose?"

I consider the buildings around us. "It looks familiar. Maybe when I found you at the Rowdy Raven? I may have passed through here."

We turn a corner and are faced with a dead-end alley.

"Well, here we are!" Julian says cheerfully, untangling our limbs and stepping to the side. I look around, perplexed.

"Where is here?"

"Mazelinka's - my home away from home." He kneels, cupping his hands. "Need a lift?"


	8. Chapter 8

The residence is dilapidated, a small chicken coop in the corner of the yard and a small garden in the center.

I glance at Julian, who smiles encouragingly and nods up at the open window above us. I step into his cupped hands and he launches me upwards. I barely miss cracking my head on the window frame as I go through and tumble to the floor. Julian follows a moment after, once again making a clean landing out of an awkward entrance even with his healing leg.

Both of us barely missed disturbing a row of brass bells hung along the window frame, passing close enough beneath them to them to make them hum.

Julian offers me his hand up and his arm lingers around my waist as his gaze travels around the room.

The hut is wide, the ceiling low. His hair brushes the ceiling, even as he stoops slightly standing there.

At first glance, this doesn't look like the room from the vision from last night. He must have somewhere else he's staying.

"Mazelinka?" he calls. "Sorry to drop in like this, the guards were on patrol." He pauses, listening for an answer. "Mazelinka?" Only silence answers. He grins awkwardly at me. "Huh. I don't know if she's home."

I'm surprised to hear the name that Portia had told me earlier today. "Mazelinka?"

"Yes, a dear friend of mine. She's sharp as a…" he thinks for a moment. "...a hook. great at cards. Hah, she's definitely not in. But we can weather the storm here until it blows over. She's never out long. Say, are you ah, are you cold? It was rather chilly outside tonight."

I shake my head. I'm warm enough after that breakneck run, though the body beside me is pleasantly cool. I feel fine.

"No? Good. I wouldn't want you coming down with something."

Leather fingers curl under my chin, his unbearable smile suggestive. I flush.

"The way you're looking at me, it seems like you're coming _up_ with something."

Suddenly the little deep-set door rattles, a tut from the outside as it's shaken free from the crooked frame.

"Ilya! Did you come in the window again, you slippery boy?" A small quick figure shuffles through the doorway, swathed in a thick shawl. Julian straightens too quickly, striking his head against the ceiling with a wince. Undeterred, he sweeps down to offer his arm, dipping for a kiss on the cheek.

"Ah, Mazelinka, aren't you a sight for the sore eye! Love the shawl, is it new?"

"You know it isn't. I thought you might be about when I saw the guards." She catches sight of me. "Oh?" She blinks up at me through wisps of wiry hair. "Who do we have here?"

"This is Rose. She's… a new friend of mine." Julian's blush betrays him.

"A new friend, eh? Make yourself comfortable Rose." Though she says this with a smile, the hard gleam in her eye suggests something else. Mistrust.

Mazelinka moves into the kitchen, tutting at the state of the yellow flowers by the window. We must have disrupted them when we came in.

"Ah, Mazelinka, I did that, I take full responsibility. I wasn't thinking, and I-"

"-don't fit through the door, I know. Fetch the round pot for me, will you?"

Julian blinks, nodding and moving to a cupboard set in the dirt wall behind him. There's a slight limp in his step, and when our eyes meet, his smile is weary. My first thought is the magic of healing sapped his energy. He said he was fine, but… His gaze is lingering strangely on me, dazed.

"Are you okay?" I ask, stepping closer to him. I watch his profile as he reaches past me and drags a well used cauldron from the cupboard in the wall.

"I'm fine, why? More importantly, how are you?" Hanging the pot over the fire, he turns and surveys me with a spark of interest in his hazy eye. "There you go, Mazelinka."

I shake my head at him. "I'm not the one who got hurt."

Mazelinka starts towards us. "Hurt?"

"Just a small scratch," Julian says, his tone conciliatory. Mazelinka forces her way in between us, shooting me a glare before facing Julian.

"And just what happened? What mess did she get you into?"

"Nothing I wasn't already in," he replies sadly. "Rose's quick thinking to escape some patrolling guards resulted in a slight injury. I'm barely hurt. Honestly."

Mazelinka spins and regards me with a long, hard look, then reaches for a sprig of purple herb from above the fireplace and rolls it between her thumb and fingers.

"Worrywort's gone stale. I've got more in the garden. Pardon me, Rose."

She bumps me as she passes, grabbing a rusty knife from the table and heading for the door. She definitely doesn't like me. I think about Gerhardt at the Rowdy Raven, and how he already knew about my employment at the palace - Mazelinka must know, too. It's going to make getting her help difficult if I don't explain everything.

The moment she's gone, Julian slumps against the counter, leaning heavily on one arm. I take the few steps needed to cross to his side and raise an eyebrow.

"You're not looking so good."

He huffs. The fact that he doesn't make a joke back speaks volumes. "It's mostly exhaustion. Sleep doesn't come easily for me." His gaze is soft in the flickering light, until a shadow crosses his brow and he looks away. "It hasn't since… well…"

He doesn't say more, and I have to ask.

"Why did you come back?"

He's thrown by my honest question - I can tell as he studies me - and probably surprised I didn't ask something else, about the murder itself. Like I should be asking, because it's my job to ask. But it doesn't make sense; he escaped his death sentence, only to return to the city that condemned him? Why would he return?

"I need answers. If I don't find the truth here, I'll lose my mind looking for it." I was right, then, about him telling the truth at my shop yesterday even though he tried to hide it around a few flirtation tactics. Julian smiles softly. "Don't worry about me. I'll be alright."

I must not look convinced.

Tutting, he slides his gloved hand along my neck to the base of my scalp and I almost forget to listen to him, I'm so distracted by the sensation.

"As you may have guessed, I have some questions for Asra. If you knew the years, the distance I've gone to find him… Ah, what does it matter. It's not like there's anywhere else I'd rather be."

He leans toward me, drawn by my rapt curiosity, or perhaps to keep me from asking any more questions.

At that moment, Mazelinka bursts inside from the garden and we quickly separate. We're getting very good at this.

"Ilya, you're barely on two feet. When is the last time you slept?"

"Ah, well, ever since the curse I don't really need it the way I used to, dear."

"Says who? Your eye is rolling. Curse schmurse."

Julian drops his gaze to the floor, to my feet. It trails up to my face, and Mazelinka raises a steely brow.

"I'm fine, really," he protests. "Haven't felt this good in a while."

Mazelinka sighs, tossing a handful of sand into the cauldron and stirring.

"I'll be very happy for you after you've rested. Go on, shoo." Mazelinka waves her hand at a curtain, a small room behind it.

His thoughts are at war for a moment, and then he caves. "Just until the soup is done."

He doesn't move away yet, though. His eye wanders my features in a slow, thorough path, as though fixated. His bold gaze draws heat to the tips of my ears and I shift on my feet, suddenly restless.

"Just till the soup is done." Mazelinka deadpans. "Well? Will you survive that long without her?"

"I'll survive." Julian lifts his eye back to mine, then moves towards a nearby curtain, pausing as he passes me to slide his hand into mine.

"You'll have to excuse me, Rose. You're in good company."

His fingertips brush my palm as he pulls away, disappearing behind the curtain.

I share a look with Mazelinka and she cracks her well-worn knuckles with a billowing sigh.

"He won't do it. He'll be pacing around unless someone pins him to the bed." A worried glance towards the room is the only sign that she's more deeply concerned about Julian beyond her matriarchal facade. We both stand in silence, staring at the curtain as we hear the sound of boots pacing back and forth and whispered muttering.

He really can't sit still.

Mazelinka levels her gaze at me once more, fully unfriendly now that Julian isn't in the same room.

I decide that waiting for her to launch a verbal attack at me would cause me to lose the upper hand, so I jump in first.

"Mazelinka," I begin, "I've been tasked by Countess Nadia to-"

"-to bring Ilya in for that idiotic Count's murder. I know."

Okay. "Um, yes. And I spoke to Portia today and-"

"-she's agreed to help you. I know that, too," she interrupts me again, dismissively.

Sweet Arcana, give me patience. "Right!" I do my best to erase the agitation from my voice. "Right. It's going to be tough, but we need your help to-"

Mazelinka silences me with a wave, not bothering to turn around from where she stirs the soup over the fire. "Spare me. You're just going to bring him even more trouble than he already brings himself. Ilya's crazy to trust you, but then he's always been impulsive when it comes to a pretty face. As for me, I think you're lying."

I grit my teeth, force myself to breathe slowly. "I understand why you think that, given I'm working with the palace. However, I do actually believe that Julian - Ilya - is innocent." My anger flares and escapes my control. Mazelinka bristles as I take a step towards her. "And if you're going to stay here and be useless, then Portia and I are better off doing it ourselves. If you cared about him, then you'd at least consider helping us drag him out of this mess that he's somehow managed to throw himself into!"

By the time I'm finished, I'm hissing to keep my voice down even though I want to yell. This woman, who by Portia's account essentially raised the two siblings, can't see past her own dislike of the palace to help Ilya?

Mazelinka stares at me for one beat, then two, then relaxes her shoulders and smiles.

"Well, when you put it like that." She pats my shoulder. "Just had to make sure you weren't trying to trick either of us into a lifetime of imprisonment, or death by hanging. Can never be too careful, you know."

I blink, breathing hard. "Excuse me?"

She waves her hand, turning back to the soup and giving it a few stirs. "You obviously care about him. I had to make sure it was real, and not just you caring about getting your job done."

With a sigh and sink into a chair. What is it with this family and giving me such a hard time? I can't catch a break from any of them.

From the room comes the hard sound of a thump, and then, "Ow."

I exhale slowly and find a measure of calm. "Will you help us, Mazelinka?"

"Oh, of course. I was always planning to."

I bite my tongue hard and stand. "I'd better see if he's okay."

"Take this in, too, would you, Rose? It helps him sleep." She hands me a bowl and ladles a golden soup into it. "Make sure he gets into bed." She grins. "I assume you're spending the night?"

My ears burn as I cross to the curtain. From the other side I can hear a flurry of activity, and when I pull the curtain back and duck through, I find Julian seated on the edge of the bed, loose shirt hanging from his shoulders, gloves off, boot in hand. I try not to stare at the murderer's mark on his left hand, even though it stands out in sharp contrast to his pale skin.

He glances up and smiles at me casually (like he hadn't just scrambled to start getting undressed) but it quickly turns wily.

"Rose, did you come to tuck me in?" The clasp on his other boot clicks back, and he kicks it away with a yawn. "I won't be long, I'm afraid. I know when I'm beat. If there's one thing I know, it's my own body. When it comes to healing, it takes as long as it takes. Whether I like it or not. Isn't it amazing? Stab me in the back and I'll walk it off. But healing will take everything I've got. Can't escape it."

I raise an eyebrow and pass him the bowl. "This is from Mazelinka."

Our fingers brush as he takes it from me, and, as he takes a sip, he looks up at me dangerously. The moment passes when he splutters and puts the bowl on the bedside table.

"Oh, it's _that_ kind of soup, is it?"

"You need it."

He mumbles in protest, but I pick the bowl up again and thrust it forward.

"What for? I'm not even feeling tired any more-" the word is interrupted by a huge yawn. He wipes at his eye, then grins charmingly.

"Mazelinka makes that soup when I can't sleep. Bless her. Even when I'm beyond stressed, raving, beating my wings against the walls...don't know what she puts in it."

I imagine I might know what she put in it, if I paid attention. Sand and worrywort for sure, but for the rest… I peer into the shimmering golden brew.

Julian waits obediently, eyeing the bowl in my hands. Warm light gleams off his tongue as he licks the seam of his lips.

"And," he adds suggestively, "it tastes fantastic."

His gaze trails down my face, fixing dreamily on my mouth. I move to sit on the bed, bringing the bowl to his lips. He pulls back a little, chuckling, looking down his nose at the golden drink.

"I don't have to sleep just yet. We could stay up, and, you know…. Get to know each other a little better. What do you say?"

After the kiss by the aqueduct, his idea is more than appealing and my heart skips a beat. Business first.

"Drink."

I lift the bowl to his lips and tip, silencing him as he starts to drink, huffing through his nose. His eye upon me is thoughtful, considering me. Without fuss, he drains the bowl down to the last drop and I deposit the empty bowl on the bedside table.

"Ah, yes. Very smooth. Better than I remember." An airy, satisfied sigh. I follow the path of his tongue as it tastes the corner of his mouth and then slips behind grinning teeth.

"Would you like a taste?"

"Yes." The word escapes my lips like a sigh.

Cautious fingers curl around the back of my neck, and I lean towards him as he leans up to meet me. A kiss, just as tender as the first one we shared earlier in the evening - and just as quickly headed toward something more passionate. His eye slides shut and my pulse starts to quicken.

His mouth caresses mine, fine lips moving elegantly, drawing me in, making me respond. I tilt my head and force his lips open with my tongue. He moans in response and offers himself to me. The taste of the soup is smokey, complex. It fills my senses, and it leaves me wanting more.

"Finish that soup yet?" Mazelinka calls from the other room.

Ears burning, I disentangle from Julians' arm, sitting up straight and wiping my mouth.

Still flushed, Julian clears his throat, leaning back on the bed in a casual pose, gaze still hot on me.

"Yes, dear."

"Good! Now get to bed. I'll be in the hiding hole, so don't make too much noise."

Hiding hole? I didn't notice one earlier, but then again, when I'm around Julian, it's difficult to pay attention to much else.

"Don't worry," Julian calls back, winking at me. "I'll be an absolute gentleman."

"Oh, will you?" She snorts. "Rose, hold him to that."

From his reclined pose, Julian stretches seductively. Just loud enough for me to hear, he says, "Absolutely. Hold me however you want, Rose."

"And get some sleep, already!"

Again, just to me: "That I can't promise."

His flirtation brings a new round of blushing and I stare him down hotly. Julian waggles his eyebrow at me as he moves to make room, splaying his long form artfully on the twin bed.

"Look at that, Rose. Nice and spacious." He tosses back the sheet, welcoming me inside. I feel almost jittery as I slide in next to him. Immediately he rolls towards me and leans over me, one hand on my cheek. He hesitates, so I reach up and pull him down for another kiss, this one searing. He presses his body flush against mine, then pulls back abruptly.

"I hope I'm not coming on too strong… Oh, Rose, I'd love to make something real with you. If we had more time…" His face falls, a bittersweet expression crossing his face. His thick hair falls over his brow, almost hiding the deep lines there. I reach over him to brush it away, and he stiffens at the touch. "Rose… Don't mind me. Just… rambling. I must be really exhausted."

Again, something about our intimacy is making him pull back, so I change the subject before he withdraws into himself completely. Maybe hearing about why I feel so connected to him will help.

"Ilya," I say quietly. He blushes and I catch myself. "Sorry, I -"

"No, I… I like it, when you say it." He glances away. "I'd like you to call me Ilya."

"Alright," I say, warmth flooding my body. But I sober quickly, knowing this won't be easy to phrase.

I scoot back a little so I can sit up properly while we talk.

"The Countess came to see me that first night you broke in." He looks like he wants to make a quip, but bites it back when he sees my expression. "She invited me to the castle and while I was there, asked me to bring Lucio's murderer to justice." I look at him earnestly. "I'm here to find answers, too, and I meant what I said the other day - I don't believe that you're guilty. I want to prove your innocence."  
"Why?"

I exhale slowly. "We met, years ago. It was during the plague, when doctors were in the streets carting victims up to the palace or to the docks…" I swallow, thinking of the Lazaret. "...but you were in the streets, caring for the people who were left there or abandoned, doing whatever you could for them even though it was hopeless."

From the expression on Julian's face, he remembers just as vividly as I do how desperate those times were, how dark and unending. I push through the anguish to continue speaking.

"There was one day when you were trying to help a young girl whose brother was sick, but she wasn't, not yet. She wouldn't leave him. I saw what was happening and helped." My voice falters, choked by unexpected tears. "We got her away from the plague together. When I saw you again a few days ago, I thought, how could a man like that, who would do so much to save one life - how could he hang for murder?"

Ilya stares at me with wide-eyed wonder. "I remember," he says, like he can't believe that he does. "You… you used to come to the palace, to give all of us herbs that masked the smell of the plague better than what we'd been using. You didn't have a mask the first time you came and I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." He winks rakishly. "And after travelling around the world for the past three years, I can say with absolute certainty that you are."

I swat his arm but blush down my neck. His eyes trail the flush hungrily where it disappears under my shirt. A gentle touch at my jaw, and he draws me to meet his lips again, lingering as if he expects me to disappear. After a moment, we pull back.

"I forgot about that," I say, smiling at the memory, at the kiss, at the dreamlike circumstance of being here with him after meeting what feels like a lifetime ago.

"You were," he flings his hands, trying to grasp the right words, "what we needed. What I needed. So much kindness in a time when everyone was fending for themselves. Looking at you, I felt hope." He swallows, turning pink. "I feel it again, seeing you here, listening to you talk about how you want to prove I'm innocent, and when you touch me…" he presses his hand into my waist, setting my whole body on fire. His voice is barely a whisper. "I feel so much when I'm with you."

Under the weight of his intense gaze, and flattery, I look down at the bed bashfully. He feels it, too, then. He feels just as deeply as I do our connection and attraction to each other.

I glance up at him and pause. Ilya is lost in his thoughts, a hard expression pulling his mouth into a frown.

Another mood shift I can't keep up with. And then shifting again, as he shakes his head. I look down quickly, pretending I hadn't seen. He lifts my chin up with his finger, and now a delighted grin lights up his face.

"You know, I kept trying to get your name every time you came to the palace. Do you remember? That first time I saw you without your mask, I asked you what your name was."

I blink, trying to think back to that time.

"I thought I told you?" I ask, the details coming back slowly.

The grin gets wider. "No, you didn't! You handed me a sachet of herbs and said," and here he adopts a falsetto that I have to assume is an impression of my voice, "My name is one of these herbs. Guess." He laughs, cupping my cheek in his palm. It feels good. "I spent hours in between your visits to try and figure it out, but it was hard to smell with, well, all of the other scents getting in the way."

The memory lands like a punch and I gasp, remembering. "Yes!" I exclaim. "I remember now! I was exhausted that first time that I came up. And when I saw you, I got so flustered, I couldn't think straight." He was so tall, so imposing in that mask. And when he took it off, seeing how handsome he was didn't make it any easier for me to focus.

Ilya waggles an eyebrow. "I do cut a striking figure, don't I?"

"I was trying to be funny, but I really thought I'd told you my name right after that."

"But I asked you every time you visited!"

I'm giggling now, barely able to get the words out. "I just, I thought you had a bad memory."

We both dissolve into a fit of hysteria, laughing until I was clutching my side and fighting for air. I'd grabbed Ilya's shoulder for support, and he was doubled over where he lay, leaning his head into the crook of my neck.

Two sharp thumps come from the hiding hole in the living room, then Mazelinka's muffled voice yelling, "Keep it down, you two!"

We freeze, looking at each other. We fight to keep our grins in check, the laughter pressed down, but it's too much to bear. Just as we're about to crack, Ilya shoves us both down onto the bed and throws the covers over us and we pull the other close to muffle the sound of our second round of cackling as much as possible.

A sound like rushing water fills my head.

Ilya and I are snuggled under the covers, wrapped around each other. My sides and throat ache from laughing, but I can't remember what was so funny. The lingering feeling of joy makes it pointless to ask - it's this feeling that matters, not so much what caused it. Not right now, when it feels so good to be here.

At some point we laugh ourselves out and fall asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

The sound of a door shutting rouses me to wakefulness, throat dry and head muggy from sleep. Julian is still asleep, one arm thrown across my waist. I gently move his arm and slip from the bed, careful not to wake him.

I walk numbly into the kitchen, glancing around with heavy eyes. I don't see Mazelinka anywhere. It looks like she must have already left for the day.

Dawn is just brushing its fingers against the horizon, little slivers of light performing morning stretches. I settle down at the table with a sigh, staring down at the wood grain as my mind tries to catch up with my body.

I was dreaming about something unpleasant, though I can't quite place what. I remember feeling a sense of dread that I've felt before, but the minute I try and trace the source of it, the feeling slips through my fingers.

A quiet groan escapes my lips and I nestle my head into my arms.

Then, from the bedroom, Julian's voice.

"N-no, please - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -"

A loud thud sounds from the bedroom. I spring to my feet, hardly thinking, and pull the curtains back.

Julian drops his head back to the floor with a groan, tangled in the sheets and face white as a ghost lily. He lifts his hangdog gaze to me, and gives me a wry smile, sweat beading his brow.

"Rose… did I wake you? I… sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

I reach out and grab his arm, helping untangle him from the bedsheets. This close, I can feel the tension in his body. He's trembling, not quite meeting my eyes. Like he thinks maybe he can hide it from me, pass it off like it didn't happen.

Once he's extricated, I clear my throat.

"It sounded like you were having a nightmare."

"Did it? That would be… because I was. Having a nightmare, that is." He swallows and drops down to the edge of the bed, slumping as he rests his elbows on his knees. "Seems silly in the light of day. Or, er, dawn. It wasn't real. Was it?" He coughs, nervous. "Why were you out of bed?"

"You're changing the subject," I press, too tired to concern myself with tact. "Or at least, you were trying to. I heard you talking in your sleep. And you're still shaking."

"What, shaking? Nonsense, I'm a doctor. My hands are as sure as death and taxes."

I reach out, taking one of his hands in my own to confirm my suspicions. Whatever he dreamed, it's shaken his cool resolve.

He tries to tug his hand away, but I won't let go. He flushes.

"I told you, it's nothing. It wasn't real. I have no reason to be upset."

I settle down on the bed beside him. He's all nerves, jumping a little as I slide closer. He doesn't look at me until I slide my hand under his chin, lifting his gaze. The barest smile crosses his lips.

"I can't hide anything from you, can I?" He studies my face. "Not from those eyes, piercing and soft at the same time… Don't know why I bothered in the first place." He looks at where our hands meet, shifting his fingers to interlace with mine and taking a steadying breath. "Do you believe in forgiveness?"

"Forgiveness?" I echo. Where is this coming from? Whatever he dreamed, it must have really shaken him. He looks like a spring too tightly coiled, all tension points.

"Do you think…" he falters, then finds his voice again. "Do you think that even truly heinous things can be forgiven? Or are there some things you don't get to come back from?"

Words slip out of my mouth like they'd been ready and waiting for this moment, like they'd always been there just waiting for the right question to be asked: "I'll forgive you." I smile, feeling lighter from doing something that was overdue. I say it again, running my thumb across his cheek. "I'll forgive you."

Julian scoffs.

"You don't even know what I've done. That's a hasty judgement, Rose." His expression changes, his tired eye narrowing as he scowls. "Would you forgive me, even if I hurt you deeply? Irrevocably? What if I hurt people you cared about? Would you still forgive me then? What if I took everything from you, and then took more when it wasn't enough? Could you still forgive me then?" He stops himself. "Some things are unforgivable. If I did something…" he sighs. "I just wish I knew. It's the not knowing that keeps me up."

My sleep-deprived brain finally catches up, processes and pieces together everything.

He said he was looking for answers from Asra; he said that he doesn't know if he did something horrible; he's been accused of Count Lucio's murder.

It finally clicks.

He has no idea if he actually did it.

I'm so caught up in my revelation that I barely hear the next few things Julian says, though he's so wrapped up in his own misery that he doesn't notice the shock that must be clearly written across my face. I wipe it away - now isn't the time.

"You're kind, aren't you?" Julian remarks, finally meeting my gaze.

He flushes under my stare, made intense by the knowledge I've uncovered but don't know what to do with just yet.

We were so close just a few hours ago, but now there's a gulf between, separating us at such a distance I'm not sure that it can be crossed.

Julian clears his throat and smiles, like nothing is wrong at all.

"Well, isn't this a dour conversation? Don't mind me, Rose, it's just the sleep deprivation talking."

He tried to pass that line on me last night, and I believe it just as much now as I did then. This push and pull - of being so open and vulnerable before pulling back behind a mask of suave confidence - is starting to annoy me. If he would just tell me what he was thinking, then I would be able to do something about it!

The stress of uncertainty is wearing down both of us. We need answers, and at every turn we're thwarted from getting them.

"Five cups of coffee and I'll get the pep back in my step," he assures me with his usual cavalier grin. But the tension hasn't eased from his shoulders. We need to talk (again, a hundred more questions without answers), but I recognize that we won't get anywhere useful tonight. So I decide to do what I can to bridge the abyss between us right now.

I move to sit against the wall at the head of the bed, tugging on Julian's hand to follow. He flushes, awkward and embarrassed.

"Oh, is this what we're doing now?"

He doesn't even try to argue or pull away, just drops his head back against my chest and closes his eyes. I run my fingers through his hair, gently scraping his scalp with my fingernails. I feel his muscles shift, loosening just a fraction.

"Julian," I whisper in his ear. "You have to relax."

He tenses again, then laughs softly. "Right. Sorry."

He stretches, long legs sticking off the end of the bed when he finally settles. He takes a deep breath, turning his head and parting his lips to speak again.

I lean down and steal his words with a kiss. He links his arms around my neck to draw us closer, offering me at the same time a very tempting view of his body. It takes a huge amount of restraint to keep the kiss gentle, and after a minute, Julian relaxes against me fully, eye closed and face flushed.

"You need to sleep," I whisper again. His lips twitch up as he gazes up at me through mussed hair. His eye wanders over my features, dazed.

"Thank you, Rose."

I smile, leaning back and playing with his hair again. "Thank me after you get some sleep."

We drift back off to sleep, a mess of tangled limbs and unspoken worries carried on til morning.

Sunlight dapples my face as a little bird chirps a cheerful tune on the windowsill, rousing me. It seems the bird is my only companion, though. Julian's gone: a depression on the bed the only trace that he was ever there.

I walk into the kitchen, only to see that no one is there, either. I'm alone in the house. Did he slip away after I fell asleep?

I slowly drop to sit at the table, confusion gripping me. We'd made some progress, hadn't we? Not as much as I'd like, definitely not in the "solving the murder" area of things, but he and I… Had I pushed too hard?

The door opens suddenly.

"Oh, you're already up." Julian ducks through the door, not able to stand at his full height as he gazes at me solemnly. "Listen, Rose. We need to talk."

Last night, I would have agreed. However, it seems Julian has something else on his mind that we need to talk about.

I eye him warily, folding my arms.

"Alright."

Julian balks at my easy agreement. "Good! Good. But not here. Let's go to the market, shall we? More places to talk. After you, my dear."

He turns to duck through the door, then spins back around abruptly. "Oh! Mazelinka left a note - you can change into something fresh of hers."

I blink up at him.

"Where?"

Cheeks tinted pink, Julian shows me where Mazelinka keeps her clothes before slowly closing the curtain behind him for me to change, as though reluctant to leave me to do it alone.

_Well,_ I think to myself, _Maybe if he'd been more honest with me last night, I would have invited him to help._

The soft, clean fabric of the dress does wonders in making me feel alive again after the dream-like interlude of last night. I feel less out of place, too, wearing something more casual than the fine silks of the palace.

Julian gives me a once-over when I meet him back in the kitchen (clearly biting his tongue to keep from saying something flirtatious, not a good sign) and leads me away from the outskirts of the district, and deeper into his part of town.

As soon as we'd walked onto the street, he'd taken my arm and hooked it into the crook of his, making my head spin from all of the mixed signals.

We eventually emerge from the twisting alleys into a sidestreet bustling with market-goers, noisy and crowded. It's not much like the market near my shop: instead of dedicated stalls, it looks like a regular street has been converted to a makeshift marketplace.

"Rose, about that talk - Ah, wait! I nearly forgot. First things first. Mazelinka left a shopping list for us. Just a few ingredients to pick up. Pickled tingleberry, charred newt flesh, articulated goosewart… She uses them for her folk remedies. Most effective pep-up soup I've ever had. And I've had a lot of soup."

I recognize the ingredients, how could I not? They aren't used for folk remedies persay, they're more along the lines of -

"Magic." I glance at Julian as he eyes each stall critically. "Does Mazelinka practice magic? These are all spell ingredients."

"What? These things?" He scoffs derisively. "Nonsense. They're ingredients for medicines. Effective ones, too."

His tone makes me bristle. "No, these are definitely magical. We keep some of these at the shop."

"It's not magic. No one chanted nonsense from a fancy but ominous tome. There were no glowing circles or weird runes. No one bled."

Is this what Julian thinks magic is? He looks distinctly uncomfortable with the prospect of Mazelinka casting magic, of being yet again a recipient of it against his knowledge. I'm already disposed to be irritated today from exhaustion and Julian's continued obstinance, so I try to swallow the disappointment about his opinion of magic - and by extension, of me.

"Does magic bother you?" I ask. My tone isn't as even as I'd hoped it would be. Julian catches it, hurriedly grasping both of my hands in his.

"I… of course not! It's just… I don't understand it. Never have. But these remedies, I understand. You mix things together, chop them up, and they work. Or they don't, and you try something different. You record the ingredients, the process. It's a science."

I huff. "Well, it may not be the same way for everyone, but magic for me is like what you described." I think about my secret notebooks, tucked away. "Some things work. Some things don't. But you keep trying until you find what does, and you write it down."

"Where have I heard that before?" He ponders for a moment, then smiles. "Ah, doesn't matter. Look at you, knowing things. And look at me. All I know is, I don't know." He clears his throat. "So, Rose, about that talk -"

A woman accosts us and we stop, shopping list completely forgotten.

"Jules, is that you? Ain't seen you in the city fer years, y'old dog! What're you doin' here, eh? With a fine young thing, at that!" She winks at me.

"Tilde! Good to see you. How's the wife? Still having those headaches?"

Tilde scoffs, waving her hand vaguely as she shoulders a sack on her shoulders. "She's doin' fine. Still talkin' 'bout moving to Prakra. What're we gonna do that for? They don't got a leech market there…"

Julian takes my hand, pulling me further into the crowds, tossing a goodbye to Tilde over his shoulder. Merchants and shoppers alike continue to call out to him as we pass. He's well known, well-liked here.

"So, listen, we need to -"

"Watch it! Comin' through!" A tiny urchin barrels between us, chasing a ragged looking dog down the street as it howls. "Biscuits, get back here!"

The kid pushes against me as they run, catching me off balance. Time seems to slow as I fall backwards, heading directly for a rickety fruit cart. The collision is inevitable, and I close my eyes, bracing for the impact.

And then I hit a broad chest, the scent of leather and coffee washing over me as both Julian and myself stumble backwards. Julian hits the ground with a grunt, arms wrapped around me to break my fall.

"Rose, are you alright?"

"Yeah," I breathe shakily. Self-sacrificing idiot.

A creak of wood is our only warning of imminent disaster.

"Oh no."

The cart beside us wobbles, an apple in the corner of the stack threatening to break free. I can't get my hand up in time to push it back into place with a burst of magic. It slips off the cart, bouncing as it lands before rolling to a stop at Julian's foot.

"Oh, this is going to hurt," Julian laments. "Watch out for-"

The cart collapses catastrophically.

Julian turns his body to protect me from the brunt of the wood. He grunts again at the impact, grimacing even as he asks, "Nothing hit you, did it?"

I help him up and we dust each other off, Julian hovering over me like a worried hen.

A perfect example of the lengths he'd go to, caring for another person at the expense of himself.

The rune on his neck begins to glow, already healing the bruises from the cart. I grab his shoulder and pull him down roughly, under the pretense of inspecting his forehead for any cuts.

"You're glowing," I whisper, and Julian laughs.

"Thanks."

I let him up when the rune fades, and he looks around.

A red-faced man approaches us, expression twisted in anger and disbelief.

The cart owner, no doubt.

"Now, isn't this a mess… Looks like I'm buying a fruit stand today." Julian rummages around in his cloak, and then pulls out a nondescript burlap bag that jingles with the clink of coin, stopping the vendor in his tracks as he opens his mouth to yell at us. "Er, do you take Galbradine dublons? Or Hjallen drakr?"

I stare in fascination as he pours out a pile of foreign currency out in front of the harried fruit vendor. There must be a small fortune amassed in that bag. The man takes it, staring at its contents in disbelief.

Julian claps his hands together. "Well, that takes care of that… Free fruit! Come get your free fruit everyone!"

A ravenous crowd quickly descends on the bruised fruit, quickly clearing the streets of any last remnant.

Julian takes my hand and pulls me out of the throng into a side street, then begins to really check me over for injuries.

"Julian," I say, but he's determined to be concerned.

"Yes? You weren't hurt, were you? Everything still where it should be? I'm sorry about that. Should have mentioned the streets can get a little rowdy. Ah, I know. I'll make it up to you! This next place is sure to knock your socks off. Nice little teahouse, just down the way. We can sit there and… and talk. It's cozy. You'll love it."

He leads me away from the market, and off deeper into the city, my hand still clasped in his.

After a leisurely stroll, Julian's eye lights up and he nods to a tall, narrow building, stylish and weatherbeaten. There are no windows. No discernable doors. Only panels of fresco cracked like eggshell illustrating faded scenes of romance. This must be the place.

"So it's still standing." Julian stares up at the building, marveling. "I used to come here all the time, back in the day. It was an irresistible spot. High ceilings, great ambiance, little booths tucked away." He winks. "And underground. You could lounge around for hours, just talking. And we, ah, I've been meaning to say, we do-"

We duck under the shadow of a groaning rotted beam, down a meandering stairwell to the underground level.

" - we do need to talk."

I don't know if I like the sound of where this talk will take us, and I'm starting to get impatient and nervous waiting for us to have it. The poems, the kiss… the other kiss… what went wrong?

I eye Julian warily as he yanks the stubborn iron door open for me, bending over one arm at the waist to usher me in.

"After you, my dear."

The light inside is scarce. Faded fabrics in bold patterns hang at angles from the ceiling. There's a slim walkway winding through a maze of dusty, dramatic curios.

I wonder if Julian thinks it's subtle when he peers around each corner, unable to mask his perplexed expression.

I hear voices coming from somewhere nearby, tones of lilting conversation. I sense that there are many people here. Though we haven't found anyone yet. Julian peers at me from the corner of his eye.

"Well, huh. This is all very unlike the way I remember it. This place must have gone under. That's a shame. They used to serve this smoky tea that I haven't been able to find since."

As he leads me through the close corridor, I try to discern a theme in the objects around us. A wisely smiling hammered metal moon; huge bolts of fabric sagging over a high-backed chair; flashing spears; an open chest of tin bells; a scarf of raggedy feathers.

"Now it seems to be some kind of an… oddities? Artifacts? Antiques? Emporium. How embarrassing. It's still cozy, though, isn't it?" One of his hands lands on my hip. His expressive brow almost makes me laugh, until he looks away, spotting something. "Now what have we here?"

Just ahead of us is a speckled, cloudy mirror, and hanging over it - a doctor's mask that is unmistakably like his own. He snatches it on sight as if to hide it. Tucked under the mirror, I spot boots not unlike the ones he's got on.

"What's this? It's not really a medical mask, is it?" He examines the mask with great interest, turning it in his hands, tapping it, and peering into its gaping eyes. "We used to stuff the beak with herbs - camphor, roses, you know, when we had to wear them. I think this one's just a statement piece." He chuckles, flipping the mask around and pausing to process its significance.

He's headed into a dark place, I can tell by the way his mood is starting to slip. I redirect his attention.

"You hear those voices, don't you?"

From the way his body goes stiff, grip tightening on the mask, I'm going to guess that he didn't hear the voices. He listens, then nods.

"Coming from… over there?"

The hum of speech crescendos into a mournful wailing. It's startling, and for a moment makes the hair on my arms stand on end. But after listening to it, the cry is somehow too comical, to exaggerated to ring true.

"Sounds like somebody's faking it."

Nonetheless, Julian fixes the mask over his face, a force of habit. Curling one hand around mine, Julian holds a leather-clad finger to his lips. Carefully, we skulk in the direction of the mournful wailing, bowing under feather boas, stepping over empty bottles. A set of heavy velvet curtains hangs before us, parted only by a thin beam of red light. Just beyond is the source of the noise, heaving beside a shredded daybed under a tinted spotlight.

An actor, dressed in sheer scarlet robes and wearing a porcelain half-mask of mascara-streaked anguish.

"Wait up in my room?" the actor wails. "On _my_ birthday? What do you expect me to do all night in here? Clomp around in my hooves? Beg the busboy for table scraps?" His wail turns into a grating shriek. "If I can't disgust anyone doing it, then what is the point?"

An audience erupts in laughter.

"Oh my god," Julian breathes. "That's fantastic, it sounds just like him."

I stare at the actor in amazement. Is that supposed to be Count Lucio?

We seem to have stumbled upon some sort of dramatic reenactment. By the sound of it, Lucio hasn't been given a flattering part. The theatre is packed to the rafters. Even in death, and despite how long ago it was, making fun of him appears to be popular in this part of town.

"Well I'm glad to see that the arts are flourishing. A renaissance may have begun since I've been away. But, if this is Lucio on his birthday night, then you don't suppose this is a show about the murder?"

A couple of things happen at once.

The audience laughs, a sandbag drops between us with a powdery thud, and the curtain starts to close. At the same time, the ankle of Julian's boot is snagged by a moving rope, dragging him off his feet and into the air. When I can bear to look again, Julian is suspended upside down over the actor onstage, too stunned to do anything but hang for a beat. Then, thrashing like an eel, he knocks something free from his boot and into his hand.

The knife.

Grunting, he swings at the torso to grab hold of the rope at his ankle, just manages to sever it, and falls, splayed and groaning in the count's silky lap.

The curtain opens once more to thunderous applause.

The actor playing Lucio is stunned silent for a moment, then improvises.

"Doctor Devorak! Here to cure my boredom!"

Shrieking laughter and applause from the audience, while Julian looks around, swallowing visibly. He's a popular character, it seems.

I turn to get a better view of the stage when something catches my eye - a huge piece of scenery, painted to look like a wall. It looks familiar, but it takes me a moment to place it: it's an outer wall of the palace, one near the gardens. The bricks are outlined with thin layers of paint, mimicking the shadows of late afternoon. Life-like vines creep up pillars so realistically depicted, I can almost feel the warmth radiating from the smooth marble as my hand hovers over the painted cloth.

It's not just that the scenic piece looks familiar - it feels familiar, too.

I hesitate for a moment, raucous laughter sounding like it's miles away. Then I lower my fingers to the painted cloth.

A memory floods my senses.

_I dip a thin brush into green paint and consider the canvas laid out in front of me. Is this the right shade? Maybe it's a little too dark…_

_A gentle laugh sounds behind me. I don't even have to look to know who it is; I'd know his voice anywhere._

"_The show's going to close before you finish that backdrop," he teases, standing close enough for me to feel, but knowing better than to try and distract me too much while I'm working._

_I kneel, lowering my brush carefully, tracing the outline of a leafy shadow._

"_When I'm done, it's going to look better than you up there, Ilya."_

I recoil from the canvas, panting. Cold sweat runs down my back.

When could that have possibly happened?

I turn and sneak back the way I came, the cheers of the crowd licking at my heels. As soon as I'm outside, my back hits the wall of the building.

My heart drums rapidly. Another piece of my life discovered, but for once I don't feel any more complete with knowing. Not when the threat of a "conversation" is hanging over my head (and I don't need to read the cards to know what that means) - and knowing that Julian and I have more connecting us than I thought makes the idea of not being around him all the more painful.

Should I wait? Should I go back in? It takes me a minute to calm my twisting stomach and figure out what I should do.

The moment I press off the wall, Julian bursts through the door and pelts up the stairs.

"Rose! There you are. What a trip, I'm still one foot in the meta-realm." He's panting, and looks just as disturbed as I feel. "Well, no one seemed to think it was really me. Was the neighborhood always this skeptical? Mmm, probably."

My pulse is still racing. One look at my face and his tentative grin falters.

"That wasn't what I had in mind. Let me try this again."

He grabs both of my hands in his, looking at me deeply, forlornly in the eyes.

"Rose, I'd like to head over to the Raven for a bite to eat. If you'd be so forgiving as to join me? My treat, of course. And after that, a nice walk down to the docks. How does that sound?"

A meal sounds like just what I need, and the price is right. More importantly, if this means that he'll finally tell me what's on his mind, I'm in. My patience is running thin, but it doesn't seem like the kind of thing I can force out of him.

So I follow him to the Rowdy Raven.


End file.
